LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


GIF        OF 


c  -^ 

Class 


F.  GREEN 

ANTS  EXCHANGE 

4   FRANCISCO 


PS3&3 

Y"/ 


COPYRIGHTED  BY  E.   F.   GREEN 
1909 


198226 


TO  MY  MOTHER 

The  most  generous  critic  and  the  most 
loyal  friend 


I  am  indebted  to  Life  for  permission  to  republish  "  Good-bye 
Summer,"  "The  New  Tantalus,"  and  "Incurable,"  and  to  the  Century 
Company  for  permission  to  republish  "  The  Grewsome  Girl." 


San  Francisco, 
March,  1 909 


INDEX 


PAGE 

A  Fancy 43 

A  Fragment 37 

A  Legend 155 

A  Sea  Dream 25 

A  Sea  Song 65 

A  Suggestion -. 49 

A  Valentine 71 

A  Valentine  by  the  Aged 119 

A  Whisper 15 

Affinity 21 

All  Is  Well 135 

An  Answer 97 

An  Easter  Song 55 

An  Idle 87 

Apology 145 

At  Evening 19 

At  Last,  Dear  Heart 189 

Baby  of  Mine 141 

Come,  Will  You  Wed  With  Me 205 

Confusion 85 

Cradle  Song 39 

Echo  Song.... 187 

Envoy 171 

Evening 31 

Evening  Soliloquy 151 

Good-Bye,  Sweetheart 77 


PAGE 

Good-Bye  Summer 67 

Heave  Ho 53 

Ida  at  Her  Knitting 89 

I'm  Such  a  Peculiar  Person 195 

Incurable 79 

In  Memoriam 51 

Interlachen 59 

I  Wouldn't  Mind  a  Little  Thing  Like  That 181 

King's  Prerogative 177 

King's  Song 175 

Legislation  203 

Life's  Problem 23 

Loneliness 17 

Louise 143 

Love's  Message 69 

Love,  Thy  Pinions 179 

Morning  Song 191 

November 35 

Oh  Days  on  the  Golden  Sands 211 

Once  on  a  Time 161 

Our  Lady  of  Dreams 129 

Over  the  Walnuts  and  the  Wine 63 

Parting 33 

Relationship 29 

Requiescat 57 

Santa  Glaus'  Lament 163 

Serenade 159 

Song  121 

Song  of  the  Princess  and  Lord  Chamberlain  183 


PAGE 

Song  of  the  Island  Maiden 193 

Stephanie  139 

The  Bells 27 

The  Cynic  Smile  of  Pan 103 

The  Dicky  Bird 199 

The  First  Love 109 

The  Grewsome  Girl 107 

The  Little  Old  Man  in  the  Moon 101 

The  New  Tantalus 95 

The  Reason 73 

The  Serenades 105 

The  Stranger's  Error 125 

The  Unfortunate  Ambition  of  McManus  McNutt 81 

The  Wail  of  the  Pessimist 99 

The  Young  Man 201 

There's  a  Little  Slight  Objection 197 

To  a  Friend 147 

To  An  Octogenarian  41 

To  Miss  S 115 

To  Mr.  M 117 

To  My  Lost  Love 75 

To  My  Niece  Maud 91 

To  My  Wife , 137 

To  Two  Friends 93 

To  Yosemite 149 

Vanitas 113 

Will  It  Seem  Less  Fair 133 

You're  It 207 

Yearning 173 


A  WHISPER. 

Across  the  snowy  mountain  peaks 

Day  comes  and  goes; 
The  wind  amidst  the  murmuring  pines 

Or  sleeps  or  blows; 
And,  in  the  valley  far  beneath, 

When  day  is  done, 
Some  little  life  has  ceased  to  breathe, 

Some  life  begun. 

"God's  hour,"  they  say;    across  the  darkening  land 
Sweeps  the  kind  touches  of  a  tender  hand; 
And  lo!  upon  the  morrow,  with  the  sun, 
Old  seats  are  empty,  and  old  faces  gone. 


15 


LONELINESS. 

She  was  here  but  a  moment  ago, 
She  stood  by  my  side;  and  the  sea, 

Tossing  grandly  and  grey 

In  the  gloom  of  the  day, 
Sounded  out  God's  high  message  to  me. 

The  wind  and  the  rain  in  my  face, 
The  lonely  sand  dunes  and  the  shore, 

How  I  welcomed  them,  aye 

All  the  world's  beauty  lay 
In  the  place;  and   I   asked  for  no   more. 

She  is  gone — she  will  never  return. 
The  restless  sea  writhes  to  each  moan; 

And  the  stricken  dunes  lie 

Vast,  deserted,  and  I 
Am  alone  v/ith  the  night;  am  alone. 


AT  EVENING. 

A  strange  weird  spell  of  sadness  is  upon  me; 

A  mingling  of  a  longing  and  despair 
That  steals  from  out  the  void  above,  around  me, 

I  know  not  how  or  where. 

I  cannot  weep,  for  tears  are  idle  refuge; 

An  awe  has  fallen  over  me,  as  when 
Some  hand  shall  place  me   silent  at   God's  footstool, 

Snatched  from  the  haunts  of  men: 

And  I  shall  know  how  little  is  my  presence, 
The  purpose  and  the  power  which  I  sought; 

The  tiny  hopes  and  fears  and  pains  and  pleasures: 
The  prize  so  dearly  bought. 

Ah,  I  would  lay  my  head  upon  your  bosom. 
Hiding  my  face,  and  for  a  moment  seem 

The  child  again,  with  roseate  life  before  me, 
This  real  life  but  a  dream. 


19 


Or  in  its  soft  pulsations  just  forgetting 

The  world  and  self,  as  one 
Face  downward  in  the  moss  and  fern  and  shadow 

Forgets  the  recent  sun. 

But  still  the  shadowy  figure  is  beside  me; 

I  see  it  stand;  I  see  it  watch  and  wait; 
And  weary  I  arise  and  struggling  follow; 

For  this,  alas,  is  fate! 


20 


AFFINITY. 

From  the  deep  shadow  of  our  unjoined  lives, 

At  last  we  met  together,  you  and  I; 
Clasped  hands;    and,  gazing  in  each  other's  eyes, 

Paused  for  a  time  and  pondered,   wonderingly, 
Why,  in  the  mighty  reaches  of  life's  plain 

Our  winding  paths  had  never  met  before; 
How  long  they  would  commingle,  and  again, 

What  time  they  would  divide  to  meet  no  more. 
Thus  pausing  and  thus  dreaming,  we  forgot 

We  had  been  strangers  ever,  seeing  plain, 
Whate'er  the  future  brought  us,  we  could  not, 

In  all  life's  space  be  strangers  e'er  again. 


LIFE'S   PROBLEM. 

No   doubt   the   world   had   gone   wrong   with   him, 

His  struggles  idle,  his  efforts  vain; 
A  failure,   crushed  to  the  world's  last  rim, 

In  a  garret,  purposeless,  watching  the  rain; 
"No  wonder,"  the  people  said,   burying  him, 

"Of  the  pistol  clapped  to  the  brain." 

And  he?     From  the  midst  of  the  spheres,  somewhere, 
He  watches  the  worlds  in  their  play  through  space; 

They  weave  strange  webs  on  the  darkened  air 
By  the  paths  of  their  whirling  that  interlace 

And  sparkle,  and  die  and  are  born  again 
As  the  pictures  flash  on  his  brain. 

And,  out  of  the  depths,  for  an  instant,  gleams 
One  world's  whole  record;  it  meets  his  sight 

From  birth  to  ending;  the  picture  seems 
Like  the  sparkle  of  glittering  beads  of  light, 

Each  bead  a  cycle — and  lo!    in  one 
His  life  had  ended,  his  life  begun. 


23 


He  may  have  dreamed,  when  he  thought  he  saw 

In  this  bead  a  dullness  which  marred  its  light; 
Perhaps  his  fancy  that  caught  a  flaw 

In  the  weaving  the  worlds  flung  into  the  night, 
And  perhaps  it  was  only  an  idle  thought 

That  out  of  the  silence  a  whisper  came: 
"Behold  the  universe  cheaply  bought; 

You  were  asked  the  price  of  a  second's  flame, 
One  flash — and  you  gave  it  not." 


24 


A   SEA   DREAM. 

Loaded  down  to  the  water's  brim, 

Sailing  over  the  quiet  bay, 
Far  to  the  west,   where  the  setting  sun 

Gilds  the  close  of  a  summer  day. 

Sailing  off  to  the  land  of  dreams, 
Following  fantasies  still  to  be, 

Airy  phantoms  that  beckon  it  on 
Over  the  breast  of  the  summer  sea. 

What  lies  back  of  the  mist  and  cloud? 

Back  of  the  west  and  the  golden  haze? 
Fairy  palaces,  fairy  isles, 

Fairy  measure  of  endless  days; 

Rest  forever  for  him  who  sails, 

Smoothly,  quietly,  far  away, 
Out  of  the  harbor,  across  the  bar, 

Over  the  water,  at  close  of  day. 


25 


THE  BELLS. 

On  the  silence  and  repose, 

Which   the   evening   shadow   throws 
O'er  the  city,  ere  it  slumbers  in  embraces  of  the  night, 

Breaks  the  chime  of  many  bells, 

And  the  varying  chorus  swells 
In   a   rounding   wave   of   music   from   the   steeple's   dizzy   height. 

Light   and   joyous,   solemn,   slow, 

Sound  the  echoes,  to  and  fro, 
Loud  ascending,  sinking,  blending,  till,  at  last,  they  die  away; 

Ah,  how  many  hopes  and  fears, 

Joyous  hours,  and  days  of  tears 
Have  been  mingled  with  their  music,  since  the  bells  began  to  sway. 

They,  who  rung  them  first,  are  gone; 

Like  the  echoes,  one  by  one, 
Sinking  slowly,  dying,  passing  out  beyond  this  world  of  ours; 

But  the  old  bells,  as  of  yore, 

Watch  the  sleeping  city  o'er, 
And,  in  measured  intonations,  mark  the  progress  of  the  hours. 


27 


And,  at  times,  they  seem  to  say, 

In  a  sadly  warning  way, 
As  their  voices  roll  together  in  a  solemn,  deep  refrain, 

"Time  is  passing;  mark  it  well; 

And  while  here  a  space  ye  dwell, 
Labor  earnestly  and,  dying,  feel  ye  have  not  lived  in  vain.'* 


RELATIONSHIP. 

"Und  lehrst  mich  meine  brueder, 
Im  stillen  Busch,  im  Luft  und  Wasser  kennen." 

Lonely  I  walked,  at  night, 

In  the  fields,  with  the  moon  on  the  wane; 
All  day  long  had  the  reaper,  with  song, 

Cut  deep  in  the  yellowing  grain. 

Heavy  and  warm  was  the  air, 

Quiet  and  silent,  like  one 
Weary  with  toil  in  the  dry,  dusty  soil, 

And  asleep  when  the  daylight  is  done. 

For  had  come  over  me,  at  even  tide, 
A  restless  spirit,  and  unquiet  mood 
That  drove  me  to  the  shadow  of  the  wood, 
And   the   calm   solace   of  the  grain   fields  wide. 

And  I  heard  voices;  not  of  moving  thing, 

But  quiet  whispers  from  the  weeds  and  grass, 
And  all  the  lowly  orders  that  men  pass 

In  daylight  careless  and  unnoticing. 


29 


And   they   held   converse,   in   their  own   strange  way; 

And  I  beheld  a  great  life  move  them  all 

In  the  eternal  struggle  and  their  fall, 
As  though  the  weeds  were  men  and  night  were  day. 

Somehow  I  felt  God's  presence  growing  then 
More  close  about  me  in  the  evening  air, 
And  his  warm  breathing  touch  and  move  my  hair; 

And  I  returned  the  purer  among  men. 


30 


EVENING. 

Silence  falling. 

Crickets   calling, 
Shrilly  out  from  marsh  and  meadow; 

Far  away, 

Where  dies  the  day, 
Drops  a  mournful  veil  of  shadow. 

Fragrance    creeping 

Where  lie  sleeping 
Tiny  wild  flowers,  softly  bending, 

Bells  of  blue 

And  golden  hue 
And  white  and  crimson  interblending. 

Softly,  slowly, 

Falls  a  holy 
Silence,  as  of  prayer  ascending; 

Sails  are  furled, 

And  the  broad  world 
Rolls  swinging  into  space  unending. 


31 


PARTING. 

There  were  tears  in  your  eyes,  as  you  turned  them  from  mine, 
While  we  stood  the  last  time  at  the  wicket  together; 

And  I  said  to  myself,   "Pretty  jewels,  they  shine 
For  our  parting  to-morrow  that  may  be  forever." 

Down  through  the  long  walk,  by  the  meadow  of  clover, 
We  passed  once  again,  ere  I  bade  you  good-bye ; 

The  dark,  silent  shade  of  the  elm  trees  hung  over, 
And  sorrowed  with  us,  who  in  sorrow  passed  by. 

Ah,  dark  was  the  day  and  the  hour  when  we  parted. 

The  soft,  dewy  grasses,  the  sunshine,  the  flowers 
Were  symbols  of  joy;  but  we  two,  broken-hearted, 

Turned  sadly  away,  for  the  joy  was  not  ours. 

The  rose-bud  you  charged  me  to  keep  as  a  token, 

Recalling  the  brief  life  of  pleasure  we  led; 
With  perfume  all  vanished  and  dead  petals  broken, 

Now   lies  but  the   symbol   of  hopes  that  'are  fled. 


33 


NOVEMBER. 

November,  November;  the  dull  dead  leaves  are  blown 

From  barren  boughs,  and  everywhere 

A  chill  is  on  the  frosty  air, 

And  the  trees  stand  shivering,  silent,  bare, 
And  the  birds  have  southward  flown. 

Across,  on  the  hillside,  where  one  lone  farm-house  stands, 

A  thin  blue  line  of  smoke  ascends; 

And  where  the  smoke  with  twilight  blends, 

It  nods  and  wavers  and  bows  and  bends 
Like  the  beckoning  of  hands. 

No  life  is  in  the  water.     No  life  is  in  the  wood. 

And  now  thou,  too,  hast  turned  to  go, 

The  summer,  whom  we  joyed  with  so, 

And  soon  the  ice  and  frozen  snow 
Will  lie  where  thou  hast  stood. 

Farewell,  then,  forever.      I  turn  away  alone; 

And  darker,  deeper  falls  the  night 

About  me,  and  below  the  height 

Glitters  the  town  with  a  myriad  light, 
And  a  rising  wind  makes  moan. 


35 


A    FRAGMENT. 

The  touch  of  a  breeze  from  the  ocean, 
The  glimmer  of  waves  from  the  sea, 

A  low  rising  moan,  and  the  motion 
Of  sails,  where  the  fishers  may  be. 

And  the  shore  is  deserted  and  lonely, 
And  across  the  wide  reaches  of  sand 

No  sound  from  dull  chambers,  but  only 
Dead  silence   abroad   in  the  land. 


37 


CRADLE    SONG. 

Deep  in  the  western  gloom  the  sun  is  fading, 

On  the  cool  air  the  busy  noises  die, 
All  the  grand  hosts  of  heaven  afar  parading 

Kindle  their  signal  fires  across  the  sky; 
Now  through  the  air  the  wavering  smoke  ascending 

Tells  of  the  quiet,  happy  home  and  rest; 
Now  to  the  fold  the  peaceful  sheep  are  wending, 

Now  sinks  the  baby  head  on  mother's  breast. 

Sleep  sweetly  baby,  sleep  sweet  and  rest, 
Pillowed  securely  on  mother's  breast; 
No  care  shall  haunt  thee,  no  fear  attend, 
Sleep  with  the  mother,  she  will  defend. 

When  on  the  past  the  shadows  have  descended, 
When  over  life  has  spread  the  twilight  shade, 

Till  at  the  last  the  toilsome  way  is  ended, 
Gladly  resigned  the  task  with  joy  essayed; 


Then,  the  long  tale  of  strife  and  turmoil  closing 
Comes  the  last  silence,  silence  long  and  deep, 

Then  the  worn  form  reclines  to  its  reposing, 
Droops  the  tired  head  at  last  in  restful  sleep. 

Sleep  sweetly,  worn  one,  sleep  sweet  and  rest, 
Pillowed  securely  on  Nature's  breast. 
No  care  shall  haunt  thee,  no  fear  attend, 
Sleep   with   the   Father,    he   will   defend. 


40 


TO  AN   OCTOGENARIAN. 

On  the  edge  of  the  grey 

Solemn  verge  of  the  day, 
The  calm  quiet  hush  of  life's  closing, 

Stand  the  feet  that  have  trod 

Weary  journeys  to  God, 
Longing  now  for  life's  rest  and  reposing. 

Years  ago,  how  they  stood, 

Those  same  feet,  in  the  flood 
Of  the  sunrise  of  life  pouring  o'er  them, 

And  the  still  untried  way 

To  the  ultimate  day 
Lay  bright  in  the  valley  before  them. 

Is  it  solved  for  you  now, 

Bended  head,  weary  brow, 
Where  the  gray  hairs  repose,  which  were  golden? 

Is  the  secret  less  strange 

In  the  struggle  and  change 
Of  the  new  life  to  life  that  is  olden? 


41 


Ah,  the  limitless  time, 

Ah,  the  new  life  sublime 
That  will  come  for  this  old  life's  undoing. 

Then  why  tremble  and  fear 

As  the  threshold  you  near 
Of  the  life  that  awaits  your  pursuing. 

Gray-haired!     Even  so. 

As  the  years  come  and  go 
They  shall  wait  by  the  mystical  river, 

Grown  old  to  the  past, 

But,  in  glory  at  last, 
Born  heirs  to  the  golden  forever. 


A   FANCY. 

In  a  quaint  old  Alpine  tower, 

Gray  with  sunshine  and  with  shower, 

Remnant   of   despotic  power 

Long  ago; 

High,  where  flash  the  swallows  winging 
An  old  painted  dial  is  clinging, 
And  the  pendulum  goes  swinging 

To  and  fro. 

Far  below  me,  faintly  ringing, 
I  can  hear  a  child's  voice  singing; 
Far  off,  where  the  hills  are  springing 

Gleams  the  sea. 
And  the  village  lies  a-dreaming, 
Where  the  sunlit  shafts  are  beaming, 
And  the  folks  are  sleeping,  seeming; 

All,  save  me. 


43 


In  these  ancient  walls  that  hold  me 
Gently,  as  a  nurse  would  fold  me, 
While  the  droning  tale  is  told  me 

Still  I  lie: 

And  the  grey-beard,  old  and  hoary, 
Wakes  to  action  at  the  story 
Of  his  fame,  his  youth,  his  glory 

Long  gone  by. 

"Ah,  you  should  have  seen  the  struggle, 
Seen  the  hot  blood  boil  and  bubble, 
Dyeing  all  the  yellow  stubble 

On  the  plain; 

Casques  were  flashing,  falchions  gleaming, 
Men  despairing,  women  screaming, 
Penons  in  the  on-slaught  streaming 

O'er  the  slain." 


"I  could  tell,  ah,  many  a  story 
Of  that  struggle;  now  before  me, 
While  you  listen,  comes  the  glory, 

Comes  the  grace 
Of  a  white-robed  figure,  kneeling 
Where  the  light  falls  dimmest,  stealing, 
Slender  hands  and  hair  concealing 

Sobbing  face." 

"And  within,  behind  the  oaken 
Studded  door,  their  armor  broken, 
Red  and  dusty  with  the  token 

Of  the  fray, 

Grim,  in  silence  and  despairing, 
Only  for  the  last  blow  caring, 
Stands  the  remnant    of  the  daring, 

Lost  that  day." 


45 


"See!    The  door  is  inward  battered! 
Case  and  lintel  split  and  shattered! 
Blood  upon  the  threshold  spattered, 

On  the  stair! 

One  by  one  the  arms  opposing 
Sink  into  a  grim  reposing, 
Knotted  hands  upon  them  closing 

In  despair." 

"And  that  night  above  them  trailing 
Golden  calm  to  hush  their  wailing, 
Silently  the  moon  went  sailing 

To  the  west, 

Saying,  'They  no  more  will  borrow 
Trouble  now  for  other  morrow; 
They  are  silent,  all  their  sorrow 

Drowned  in  rest.' 


"Then  the  flowers  came,  and  the  grasses, 
Hiding  all  the  well-known  passes; 
Yonder   gleaming   torrent   flashes 

Over  one; 

And  the  wild  hawks,  undiscovered, 
O'er  the  ruins  came  and  hovered, 
Castle  ruins  crowned  and  covered 

From  the  sun." 


A   SUGGESTION. 

Oh,  careless  heart, 
That  still  imagines  fields  supreme,  elysian, 

Beyond  the  gold  and  azure  of  the  day; 
Oh,  careless  feet,  and  all  too  careless  vision, 

That  spurns  nor  heeds  the  flowers  upon  the  way, 
Heaven's  lesser  part. 

Look  close  at  hand. 
The  daily  world,  that  smiles  its  modest  blessing, 

The  streams  that,  flowing  gently,  speak  of  rest, 
The  breeze  that  bears  within  it  a  caressing 

Fresh  from  God's  hand,  are  these  not  things  at  best 
Worthy  to  understand. 

Who  will  not  see 
The  love  that  lies  about  us  every  day; 

The  dust  and  stones  and  heat  and  toil  forgetting, 
Enjoying  life's  small  gifts  upon  the  way; 

To  him  will  that  strange  land  beyond  life's  setting 
More  perfect  be? 


49 


IN    MEMORIAM. 

Be  hushed,  be  still,  oh,  babbling  words  of  science, 
Oh  talk  of  creeds,  oh  pratter  of  wise  lore; 

Draw  breath  and  listen,  for  behold  a  timid 

Sweet  learner  passes  to  the  vales  you  would  explore. 

With  shrinking  feet,  alone  and  unattended, 

No  echo  from  the  unresisting  sod, 
Into  the  valley   of  the   darkening  shadow 

She  fades,  a  spirit  gone  to  meet  her  God. 

What  meets  her  there  ?     Would  you  not  give  to  know  it 
The  hoarded  wisdom  that  your  volumes  hold? 

Perhaps  a  touch,   a  kiss  within  the  darkness, 
A  start  of  waking  wonder,  and  behold — 

Oh,  simple  faith.     Why  did  we  not  obey  you? 

Oh,  love  Divine.     Oh,  Father,  tender,  mild. 
How  simple  seems  it  now.     An  easy  riddle 

Set  for  the  guessing  of  a  little  child. 


51 


HEAVE    HO. 

Heave  Ho,  merrily  Ho, 
See  the  wind  belly  our  sail! 

Heave  Ho,  merrily  Ho, 
Look  at  the  foam  in  our  trail! 
There,  on  the  shores  where  the  houses  be, 
A  figure  is  waving  farewell  to  me, 
And  her  eyes,  they  will  follow  me  over  the  sea 
Till  the  light  in  the  west  grows  pale. 

Heave  Ho,  joyfully  Ho, 
Let  the  breeze  follow  us  free; 
Heave  Ho,  joyfully  Ho, 
Far  to  the  south  sail  we; 
South  to  the  seas  where  the  islands  lie 
Under  an  azure  and  melting  sky 
Golden  sands  where  the  ripples  die 
Faint  from  the  slumbrous  sea. 


53 


Heave  Ho,  wearily  Ho, 
Mariner  out  of  the  west; 

Heave  Ho,  wearily  Ho, 
Drop  the  stiff  anchor  and  rest; 
Ah,  but  no  figure  upon  the  shore 
Gives  hail  to  the  wanderer,  home  once  more. 
There's  an  empty  cottage,  and  over  the  door 
A  spider  is  spinning  its  nest. 


54 


AN  EASTER  SONG. 

Gone  is  the  sun,  below  the  verge  descended; 

Gone  is  the  sun;  and  come  are  night  and  gloom; 
Hushed  are  the  joyous  songs  of  birds  and  ended 

Life's  happy  hopes,  enshrouded  in  the  tomb. 
Rest,  timid  heart.     Rest  till  the  morning  lightens; 

Dream  not  of  doubt,  dream  not  of  doubt  or  pain; 
Lo,  in  the  east,  again  the  sunlight  brightens, 

In  golden  glory  day  will  come  again. 

Hid  in  the  earth  the  seed  lies  buried  lowly, 

Pressed  'neath  the  sod,  forgotten  in  the  mold; 
Lost  is  the  form  and  beauty  of  it  wholly, 

Beaten  by  storms,  enwrapped  by  winter's  cold. 
Trust,    timid   heart.      Trust   in   the   future's   bringing, 

Dream  not  of  doubt,  dream  not  of  doubt  or  pain; 
Lo,  from  the  soil  the  tender  shoot  is  springing, 

Winter  has  passed  and  Spring  has  come  again. 


55 


Shut  is  the  soul,  by  fleshly  confines  bounded, 

Hid  is  the  soul  beneath  the  worldly  sod; 
Deep  in  the  gloom,  by  woe  and  sin  surrounded, 

Lost  is  the  shape  and  essence  of  a  God. 
Wait,  timid  heart.     Wait  till  the  appointed  hour; 

Dream  not  of  doubt,  dream  not  of  doubt  or  pain; 
Lo,  o'er  the  tomb  the  might  of  God  has  power. 

Gloom  will  dissolve  and  God  be  God  again. 


56 


REQUIESCAT. 

- 

Peace!    Peace!    Beyond  the  waves  that  break 
Tumultuous  on  life's  troubled  shore, 

She  lies  at  rest,  she  will  not  wake, 
She  will  not  strive  forevermore. 

Her  hands  are  folded  on  her  breast, 
There  is  a  smile  upon  her  face; 

Ah,  God,  how  perfect  is  her  rest, 
How  calm  and  quiet  all  the  place. 

She  does  not  hear  the  praise  we  bring, 
She  does  not  heed  our  jarring  wars, 

But  silently,  on  angel  wing 

She  floats  beyond  the  viewless  stars. 

Come,  leave  the  spot.     We  have  no  place, 

We  living  with  this  perfect  rest; 
Cover  the  unresponsive  face 

And  leave  her.     She  alone  is  blest. 


57 


INTERLACHEN. 

I  looked  from  a  tall  tower  in  the  town, 

And,  in  the  distance,  far  as  one  might  see, 
Caught  the  blue  glimmer  of  a  water's  edge 

And  dreamed  "It  is  the  sea." 
Below  me  lay  the  houses,  baked  in  sun, 

And  pigmy  people  darkened  all  the  way; 
And  the  green  hills  rolled  outward  from  the  town 
And  in  the  cool  blue  distance,  glory-crowned 

The  Alps  shut  in  the  day. 

An  ivy  clung  upon  the  ancient  wall, 

I  knew  it  from  the  few  stray  leaves  that  lay 

In  dusty  slumber  where  the  spider  spun 

And  the  long  lances  of  the  yellow  sun 
Moved  slow  and  lazily. 

I  felt  the  ivy  cling  about  the  stones, 

I  listened  to  the  great  clock's  hollow  tones, 

As  down  and  back  the  pendulum  went  swinging, 

And  great  tears  dimmed  my  eyes,  as,  one  by  one, 

Weird  figures  came  of  men  and  seasons  gone, 

And,  from  the  shade  below,  a  child's  voice  singing 


59 


Green  fields,  blue  waters  and  the  sun, 
No  change  has  come  to  one  of  you; 

Green  grasses  wave,  clear  waters  run, 
And  yonder  sky  has  still  its  blue. 

But  where  are  ye,  O  earnest  hearts 

Who  knew  these  beauties  years  ago? 

Who  may  have  walked  these  grasses  through 
Who  may  have  sailed  yon  silent  sea, 

Who  may  have  dreamed,  as  now  I  do, 
Perplexed  at  life's  great  mystery. 

Can  it  be  that  the  flowers  and  the  grasses. 
Refreshed  by  the  touch  of  the  rain, 

Are  the  flowers  and  grasses  of  old  time 
Recalled  to  their  glory  again? 


60 


Can  it  be  that  the  lily  I  gather 

Holds,  hid  in  its  innermost  cell, 
Some  touch  of  the  lily  that  faded, 

Crushed  down  when  a  warrior  fell? 

Can  it  be  that  unto  dust  as  men  return 

Some  cycle  of  great  change 
Rolls  onward,  and  the  dust  renews  again 

A  new  life  and  a  strange? 

But  lo,  below  the  mountain  peaks  the  sun  has  set, 
And  the  child's  song  is  hushed,  and  the  long  grass  with 
dew  is  wet. 


61 


"OVER  THE  WALNUTS  AND  THE  WINE.' 

Over  the  walnuts  and  the  wine 

Thoughts  will  go  a-straying; 
Deep  in  the  heart  of  the  winter-time 

Love  will  go  a-maying; 
And  I  dream,  as  I  tip  my  glass, 
Of  a  day  perfumed  by  the  new-born  grass 
And  a  shaded  lane  where  the  people  pass 

And  the  children  linger  playing. 

I  know  a  spot  in  this  shaded  lane, 

A  nook  in  the  hawthorn  hidden 
Where  the  blossoms  fall  in  a  snow-white  rain 

And  the  breezes  kiss  unchidden. 
A  spot  where  all  day  one  may  lie 
With  just  a  glimpse  of  the  clear  blue  sky 
And  just  a  song  as  the  stream  runs  by, 

By  the  nodding  lilies  hidden. 


And  a  face  looks  over  the  hawthorn  hedge, 

A  face  that  comes  to  chide  me, 
While  the  snow  lies  white  on  my  window  ledge, 

And  the  fire  burns  bright  beside  me. 
Perchance  I  chose  wisely  to  follow  the  track 
Where  reason  led,  but  where  love  held  back, 
For  fortune  and  honor  are  mine,  but  alack! 

My  empty  rooms  deride  me. 


64 


A  SEA  SONG. 

At  sea,  Love, 

To  be,  Love, 
Is  half  of  life  to  me,  Love; 

With  wind  and  spray 

To  wash  away 
The  cares  that  should  not  be,  Love ; 

For,  lo,  the  waste  before  us 

Gives  back  the  merman's  chorus, 
And  soft  dreams  lie  within  the  sky 

That  stretches  kindly  o'er  us. 

But  you,  Love, 

Pursue,  Love, 
My  thoughts  the  blue  wave  through,  Love, 

Nor  ever  stray 

Far,  far  away, 
Though  I  am  far  from  you,  Love; 

For  in  the  blue  waves  springing, 

Is  echo  of  your  singing; 
And  soft  the  press  of  your  caress 

To  every  breeze  is  clinging. 


65 


GOOD-BYE    SUMMER. 

"Could  it  have  been  that  last  June  was  the  time  of  it? 

Surely  it  was,  or  the  first  of  July. 
Now  that  your  question  has  put  me  in  mind  of  it, 

Isn't  it  strange  how  the  time  has  gone  by?" 

"Call  on  us  when  we  return  to  the  City.      I 
Hope  our  acquaintance  is  not  to  end  here." 

(Her  Sister.) 

"Come,  father's  waiting,  Grace,  hurry  and  say  good-bye; 
There,  now  he's  off.     Why,  you're  crying,  My  Dear!" 


67 


LOVE'S  MESSAGE. 

Here  is  a  cluster  of  flowers, 

And  the  secret  they  carry,  My  Dear, 
Is  mine;  but  will  shortly  be  ours, 

If  you'll  hold  them  awhile  to  your  ear. 
Not  distant,  as  strangers  might  speak, 

And  formal,  but  pressed  let  them  be 
To  the  down  of  your  beautiful  cheek, 

While  they  whisper  and  tell  you  of  me. 

I  would,  in  their  place,  I  might  dare 

To  tell  what  I  send  them  to  say; 
And,  close  to  your  billowy  hair, 

While  your  eyes  turn  demurely  away 
I  might  whisper  my  thoughts,  for  I  know, 

Though  friendly  and  faithful  to  me, 
No  flowers  could  whisper  just  so 

As  I,  Love,  would  whisper  to  thee. 


69 


A    VALENTINE. 

Let   these   roses,   mignonette, 

Violets  and  daisies, 
Teach  you  never  to  forget, 

Wandering  in  Love's  mazes, 
That  another  stands  and  waits 
Patiently  without  those  gates. 

All  within  is  bright  to  thee, 

All  without  is  dreary; 
Open  then  the  gates  to  me, 

I'll  repay  it  dearly. 
Love  the  God  is  blind,  they  say; 
Let  me  in  to  show  the  way. 


71 


THE   REASON. 

Eleanor  is  young  and  fine, 

Truly  so; 
Shall  I  ask  her  to  be  mine? 

Ah,  no,  no. 
Thorns  too  often  hide  where  roses  blow. 

Margaret,  by  the  garden  walk. 
Spies  a  lily  on  its  stalk, 

And  she  bends  above  it, 
Crying,  "Ah,  the  lily;  see, 
Is  it  not  the  flower  for  thee? 

Pure  and  white;  I  love  it." 

But  I  say, 
"Come  away. 
Thorns  prefer,  when  perfume  is  to  pay." 


73 


Aye,  the  rose  is  sweet,  I  ween, 
And  the  lily,  on  its  green 

Stalk  below. 

But  I've  found,   the  grasses  under, 
One  sweet  little  flower  alone; 
And  the  people,  still  they  wonder 
Why   I   walk   in   paths  asunder; 
They  will  never  wiser  be 
If  they  wait  to  learn  from  me: 
Tis  enough  I  know. 


74 


TO  MY  LOST   LOVE. 

Will  it  ever  be  we  shall  meet  again, 

You  and  I  in  this  earthly  place? 
Shall  I  hear  your  voice,  shall  I  touch  your  hand, 

And   look  again  in   your  face? 

Look  again  into  those  deep,   dark  eyes, 

Whose  fathomless  meaning  I  longed  to  know, 

To  read  the  secret  their  depths  concealed, 
And  you  kept  it  hid,   in  the  long  ago. 

We  will  meet  but  as  friends,  when  we  meet  at  last; 

I  will  clasp  your  hand  as  you,  too,  clasp  mine 
But  the  joy  will  be  barren,  Oh,  Love,  at  best, 

The  bitterest  dregs  of  an  unquaffed  wine. 

It  will  be  so.     Yet  I  know,  I  know, 

This  current  that  sets  so  strong,  so  true, 

Will  find  its  goal  in  some  future  day; 
And  I  wait  for  that  day  and  you. 


75 


GOOD-BYE  SWEETHEART 

'Good-bye,  Sweetheart."     You  said  "Good-bye" 
And  leaned  to  me  across  the  stile, 

And  there  were  tear  drops  in  your  eye, 
But  on  your  lips  a  trembling  smile. 

All  bold  enough  I  strode  away; 

But  somehow,  as  I  climbed  the  hill, 
I  could  not  help  but  glance  your  way 

To  see  if  you  were  watching  still. 

Too  far  it  was  to  see  your  eyes, 
Too  far  to  catch  the  tearful  smile, 

Only  to  know,  if  that  were  wise, 
You  still  were  leaning  on  the  stile. 


77 


From  out  the  woods  the  long  train  drew, 
And,  through  the  meadow  rushing  down, 

Its  shrill,   defiant  whistle  blew, 
And  passed  into  the  distant  town. 

But  nought  to  me  were  field  and  wood, 
Wild  train  or  wilder  busy  town, 

As  in  the  chestnut  shade  the  hood 

That  from  your  hair  had  fallen  down, 

I  loosed  again  and  saw  your  face, 
As  backward  to  the  house  we  went, 

Lose  its  strange  trouble,   pace  by  pace, 
And  settle  to  a  calm  content. 


7S 


V-   OP   THE 

UNIVERSITY 


INCURABLE. 

Said  I,  "If  Koch,  with  mystic  lymph 

Can  slay  the  wild  bacilli, 
And  break  the  fierce  bacteriae 

To  harness,  willy  nilly, 
Perhaps,  with  proper  focus,  I 

Can  learn  the  reason  why 
I've  lost  my  health  and  cannot  sleep, 

And  seem  inclined  to  die. 

And  so  I  set  my  lenses  straight, 

With  most  especial  care, 
And  on  my  nervous  system  brought 

Their  focal  power  to  bear. 
And  at  the  very  slightest  glance 

I  found,  alas!  I  had 
A  case  of  Arabella  Jones, 

And  had  it  very  bad. 


79 


THE    UNFORTUNATE   AMBITION   OF   McMANUS 
McNUTT. 

You  would  not  have  said,  to  have  looked  at  him,  he 
Was  possessed  in  the  very  remotest  degree, 
Of  traits  that  were  any  wise  notable,  but — 
There  was  quite  a  good  deal  to  McManus  McNutt. 

He  was  not  a  beauty;    that  all  would  admit 
His  ears  were  too  large  and  his  feet  didn't  fit, 
And  you  never  could  tell  where  he  fastened  his  eyes; 
But  his  efforts  in  art  were  a  constant  surprise. 

For  McManus  McNutt  had  a  musical  soul, 
Which  he  constantly  poured  through  a  very  small  hole; 
And   his   neighbors   remarked,   as  he   tooted  his   toot, 
"He's  an  angel,  or  ought  to  be — he  and  his  flute." 


81 


And  when  Mr.  McNutt  was  incited  to  song, 
The  whole  of  the  twenty-fifth  precinct  went  wrong; 
You  could  hear  the  remarks  from  the  first  to  the  sea, 
And  'twas  that  caused  the  riot  in  avenue  "D." 

"Thorough   Base,"  said  McNutt,   "I  am  learning  each  day." 
"Is  it  second  or  third,"  said  a  friend,  "that  you  play?" 
"Neither  one,"  said  McNutt,  "I'm  just  learning  to  sing." 
And  they  tried  him  on  second  just  once  in  the  spring. 

'Tis  not  to  his  efforts  objection  we  find," 
Said  his  intimate  friends,  "We  would  not  be  unkind; 
And  we  do  not  protest  at  the  means  he  employs; 
But  he  constant  keeps  up  such  a  H —  of  a  noise." 

"And  we  think,  and  we  very  suggestively  say, 
That   when   Mr.    McNutt  is   inspired   to  play, 
And  to  burst  into  song  or  render  those  airs, 
He  ought  to  go  out  and  perform  to  the  bears." 


82 


Now  McNutt  didn't  go  and  the  noise  didn't  stop, 
Till  the  imminent  crisis  at  last  took  a  drop; 
And  thereafter  calm  peace  settled  over  things,  but — 
'Twas  a  peace  that  was  visibly  minus  McNutt. 

MORAL 

'Tis  a  troublesome  thing  when  a  man  has  a  brain 
That  causes  his  neighbors'  affection  a  strain; 
And  a  dangerous  state  of  the  atmosphere  springs 
From  a  small  inspiration  with  five-dollar  wings. 


83 


CONFUSION. 

Pretty  Jennie  came  to  me, 
Anxious,  seeking  information. 

"Show  me,  Richard,  will  you  please, 
What  is  meant  by  osculation?" 

What  could  mortal  man  as  I 

Do  in  such  a  situation, 
Father,  Mother,  no  one  by; 

Liberal  views,  a  strong  temptation? 

Jennie  is  my  cousin,  too. 

So,  to  please  my  young  relation — 
"Oh,  you  horrid  thing,  there  now, 

I  referred  to  occultation." 


85 


AN    IDLE. 

He  sat  on  the  shore,  as  the  sun  went  down, 

Went  down  in  the  depths  of  the  wide,  wide  west 
To  a  chance  observer  it  might  have  seemed  queer 
That  he  didn't  go  home,  as  the  night  drew  near, 
But  he  didn't,  and  therefore  it  might  appear 
That   the  sitter  himself  knew   best. 

He  sat  on  the  shore  when  the  morning  sun 
Shone  out  from  the  east  over  sea  and  land. 

He  sat,  I  remark,  as  the  sun  arose, 

On  the  very  same  spot  where  he  sat  at  the  close 

Of  the  previous  day;  and  the  Lord  only  knows 
Why  he  did  it,  I  don't  understand. 

Perhaps  he  was  searching   for  coral  reefs; 

Perhaps  he  was  trying  to  keep  him  cool; 
Perhaps  the  breezes  from  over  the  sea, 
As  they  toyed  with  his  tresses,  said,  "Come  to  me.'v 
The  field  of  conjecture  is  wide,  you  see. 

Perhaps  he  was  only  a  fool. 


87 


IDA  AT  HER  KNITTING. 

Clothed  in  red,  the  chair  behind  her, 
Large  and  cosy  for  her  sitting, 

Here  I  enter,  and  I  find  her. 
Cousin  Ida  at  her  knitting. 

O'er  the  work  her  head  is  bending, 
Quickly,  light  the  fingers  flitting; 

And  I  wonder  are  there  blending 
Pleasant  fancies  with  her  knitting. 

There  perhaps  are  fields  of  clover, 
Summer  odors,  swallows  flitting, 

Evening  shadows,  and  a  lover 

Mingling  with  this  dainty  knitting. 

Yes.     The  smile,  the  blushes  show  it; 

Dainty  blushes  mounting,  flitting. 
'Tis  some  lover.     But  I  know  it 

Is  not  I.     So  hang  the  knitting. 


TO    MY    NIECE    MAUD. 

You   are   young,  Oh  niece    Maud.      You   but   newly 

Are  bom;  and  I  know  you'll  allow 
That  I  can't  be  expected  to  truly 

Be  greatly  impressed  by  you  now. 

You  are  young,   and  I  might  say  bald-headed, 
Lack   teeth,    and   your    color   is   high; 

And  you  have,  Ah  Mon  Dieu,  as  I  dreaded, 
A  strong  disposition  to  cry. 

You  are  young,  and  of  course  are  delighted, 
(See    Pope)    with   a   rattle   or   straw: 

While    I,    your   dear   uncle,    am   knighted, 
A    counsellor,    learned    in    the    law. 

I  repeat,  then,   'tis  not  to  be  looked  for, 
Admiration  from  me,  Dearest  Wench, 

While    you    baby-kingdom    are    booked    for, 
And  I,  it  may  be,   for  the  bench. 


91 


But  wait,  oh  niece  Maud,  for  time's  flying; 

Have  patience.      Revenge  will   be   sweet 
When  they,  who  your  toes  are  now  guying, 

Will   kneel  as  your  slaves  at  your  feet. 

And  I — I  shall  flee  from  the  dreaded, 

Perhaps  from  the  merited  chaff; 
For  I  shall  lack  teeth,  be  bald-headed, 

And  you — Ah  Mon   Dieu,  you  will  laugh. 


TO  TWO  FRIENDS 

(On  receiving  their  photographs. ) 

Though,  forsooth,  no  gift  was  due  me, 
Since  you  kindly  send  me  one, 

May  I  ask  nymphs  if,  beshrew  me, 
Pictured  forms  are  all  I've  won? 

I  should  grieve,  if  I  imagined 
All  these  lengths  of  happy  days 

Could  be  measured  by  the  limning 
Of  a  few  collected  rays. 

And  that  while  I  dreamed,  conceiving, 
"Lo,  I  own  them  every  one." 

Waking,  I  should  simply  find  me 
Debtor  to  the  fickle  sun. 

No.     Full  thanks  for  these  two  faces 
But,  at  best,  when  all  is  said, 

Let   me   whisper   I'd   prefer   it 
If  you'd  sent  yourselves,  instead. 


93 


THE    NEW    TANTALUS. 

He  discourses  on  astronomy  with  very  best  intention, 
And  mentions  many  matters  I'd  not  previously  known; 

But,  for  some  especial  reason  I  have  no  desire  to  mention, 

I   should  much  prefer   the   garden   with   Matilda   all  alone. 

The  balmy  air  is  odorous  with  perfume  of  the  flowers, 
And  the  moonlight  on  the  terrace  is  most  beautiful  to  see; 

But  professor  is  excited,  and  I  know  he'll  talk  for  hours, 
While  Matilda's  in  the  garden  all  alone  expecting  me. 

It's  well,  of  course,  to  know  about  these  subjects;    the  propriety 
Of  telling  which  is  Saturn,  and  the  distance  to  the  moon 

Is  obvious;  it  gives  a  certain  standing  in  society; 

But,  somehow,  on  this  evening  I've  a  great  desire  to  spoon. 

O  moon,  O  stars,   O  milky  way!    I  care  not  for  your  density; 

Your  perigee  and  apogee  possess  no  charm  for  me ; 
Look  down,  look  down  in  pity  from  your  silent,  vast  immensity 

And  let  me  join  the  figure  there  beside  that  apple  tree. 


95 


AN   ANSWER. 

(Written  for  a  young  lady  named  Rose,  as  her  answer  to  an 
ancient  who  had  sent  her  some  amorous  verses.) 

I  don't  care  a  D 

For  an  ass  or  a  clam, 
And  therefore,    My  Excellent   Poet, 
The  sequence  is  true 
That  I  don't  care  for  you, 
And  I  think  it  is  time  you  should  know  it. 

When   the   season   has   come 

That  one  tooth   in  the   gum 
Is  all  that  one's  smiling  discloses, 

It  is   time   to  retire, 

My  Dear  Sir,  to  the  fire; 
The  winter's  no  season  for  roses. 


97 


THE    WAIL    OF    THE    PESSIMIST. 

Oh,  the  world  that  my  infancy  pondered 
As  I  lay  in  my  cradle  and  wondered; 

How   it   passed    in   surprise 

By  my  wide  open  eyes, 

From  the  great  fearful  cat, 

To  my  father's  tall  hat; 

These  are  not  now  as  strange  as  they  might  be; 
My   father's   hat   does   not   affright   me; 

And  the  cat  only  serves 

To  impinge  on  my  nerves 
As  it  wails  in  the  back  garden  nightly. 

Oh,  the  joys  that  in  boyhood  were  brimming, 
The  hunting,  the  fishing,  the  swimming; 

The  plunge,    after  school, 

In  the  wide,  quiet  pool, 

Just  above  the  old  mill 

Where  the  lilies  lay  still; 


99 


I  don't  think  this  now  would  delight  me; 
I  know  that  the  leeches  would  bite  me; 

There  would   follow  a   chill, 

And  a  large  quinine  pill, 
And  red  flannel  around  the  throat  tightly. 

Oh,  the  girl  that  my  youthfulness  courted, 
As  under  the  green-wood  we  sported; 

The  blue  tender  eyes 

With  their  glance  of  surprise; 

The   hand   that    I   took 

With  so  loving  a  look; 
I  can't  call  her  married  name  rightly; 
They  say  she  is  far,  far  from  sightly; 

Of  her  eyes  of  deep  blue, 

One  is  glass,  and  her  hue 
Is  carnation.      I  dream  of  it  nightly. 


100 


THE   LITTLE  OLD   MAN   IN   THE   MOON. 

The  little  old  man  in  the  moon,  Ha,  Ha! 
Has  come  with  an  appetite  hearty; 
Has  come  all  the  way  from  the  land  which,  they  say, 
Lies  far  out  of  sight  in  the  depths  of  the  night, 
All  gloomy,  and  lonely,  and  quiet; 

He  has  brought  his  large  spoon, 
And  he's  come  none  too  soon, 
For  the  stars  are  all  fat, 
And   they're  plenty,   at  that; 
And  I  know,  if  he  tries, 
He'll  improve  on  his  size, 
For  stars  are  an  excellent  diet. 

The  queer  little  man  in  the  moon,  He,  He! 

Is  satisfied,  jolly  and  cozy; 

For  his  stomach  has  grown  till  he  can't  walk  alone, 
But  he  rolls  all  the  day  in  a  singular  way, 

Like  a  large  rubber  ball,  but  more  cheerful; 


101 


He's  quite  happy,  you  see, 
But  it  wouldn't  suit  me, 
For  I  know  that  his  size 
Is  a  source  of  surprise, 
And  if  fatter  he  grows 
He   cannot  see  his   toes, 
And  that,  I  should  think,  would  be  fearful. 

The  sad  little  man  in  the  moon,  Ho,  Ho! 

Has  come  to  a  very  hard  trial; 
For  the  stars  are  all  gone,  and  he  hasn't  left  one; 
He  has  eaten  them  all,  both  the  great  and  the  small, 

The  great  big  bear  star  and  its  brother. 
A  week  now  has  passed 
Since  he  ate  up   the  last, 
And  he's  gone  without  dinner 
And  grown  so  much  thinner 
That  I  fear,  by  and  by. 
He'll  not  be  in  the  sky, 

And  we'll  have  to  go  look  for  another. 


102 


THE    CYNIC    SMILE    OF    PAN. 

From  out  the  cushioned  easy  chair 

I  study  the  luxurious  room; 
The  light  is  shaded,   and  the  air 

Made  heavy  with  a  rich  perfume; 
And,  waiting  for  my  lady,  I, 

From   dreamland,   suddenly   descry, 
Behind  a  screen,  a  bust  of  tan, 

And  catch  the  cynic  smile  of  Pan. 

My  lady  comes;  the  airs,  the  grace 

Are  perfect  in  her,  and  I  vow 
I  never  saw  a  sweeter  face, 

Or  loved  a  maid  as  dear  as  now; 
With  reverent  homage  on  my  lips, 

I  kiss  her  dainty  finger  tips, 
And  raise  my  eyes  her  face  to  scan, 

But  catch  the  cynic  smile  of  Pan. 


103 


And  so  through  life  as  it  has  been, 

And  so  through  life  as  it  may  be, 
Perchance   I   find   the  painted  screen 

Whence  something  mocking  looks  at  me. 
Perchance  Dame  Nature  builds  my  life 

On  such  a  settled,  subtle  plan, 
That  always,  back  of  pleasant  things, 

I  catch  the  cynic  smile  of  Pan. 


104 


THE  SERENADES 

(Scene  I.     Time,    10  p.  m.) 
Oh,  maiden,  fair  maiden, 
The  stars  are  shining  bright, 

And  I,  Love,  am  nigh,  Love, 
To  woo  thee  out  to-night. 
Then  haste  thy  sweet  replying, 
The  summer  night  is  dying, 
Come  forth  and  ease  my  sighing, 
Come  forth,   my  Soul's  Delight. 

(Scene  II.     Time,   10  a.  m.) 

Oh,  Doctor,  dear  Doctor, 
Give  me  an  herb  or  pill; 

For  I,  Sir,  must  die,  Sir, 
If  I  can't  check  this  chill. 
There's  fun,  no  doubt,  parading 
All  night,  and  serenading; 
But  there's  no  fun  in  trading 
A  Cupid  for  a  squill. 


105 


THE    GREWSOME    GIRL. 

She  was  a  charming  little  girl, 
With  hair  that  fell  in  one  long  cue; 
And  she  was  meek  as  meek  could  be, 
But   when,    one    day,    she   came   to    me 
And  said,  "I  done  it"  for  "I  did," 
Down  from  my  nose  my  glasses  slid, 
I   opened  very  wide  my  eyes — 
I  did  this  to  express  surprise — 
And  said,  in  voice  that  grewsome  grew, 
"This  will  not  do." 

She  often  folded  in  her  lap 

Her  hands,  and  like  a  saint  she  seemed; 
She  sat  for  hours  and  hours  that  way, 
But  when,  one  day,  I  heard  her  say 
"I  seen  it,"  when  she  should  have  said 
"I  saw  it,"  I  but  shook  my  head, 
Took  my  galoshes  from  the  shelf 
And  in  the  rain  walked  by  myself, 

Remarking,  "She's  not  what  she  seemed, 
I  dreamed,   I  dreamed." 


107 


Oh,  little  girls  with  yellow  hair, 
And  angel  looks,  beware,  beware! 
Be  very  careful  what  you  say, 
Don't  drive  your  dearest  friends  away 
By  fearful  grammar;  and  when  you 
Don't    know    exactly    what    to    do, 
Or  say — say  nothing.      No  real  saint 
Was  ever  known  to  say,  "I  ain't." 


108 


THE   FIRST   LOVE. 

The  old  chestnut  tree  at  the  window 

Was  leafy  with  joy  of  the  June, 
And  the  crickets,  from  over  the  play-ground, 

Sang  merrily  out  to  the  noon, 
When,  clad  in  pink  frock  and  sun-bonnet, 

Looking  bashful,  but  sweet  and  so  cool, 
You  came,   Susan   Miggs,  with  your  mother, 

To  enter  the  old  district  school. 

Ah,  sad  was  my  heart,  when  I  pondered 

On  the  chasm  I  saw  intervene 
'Twixt  a  girl  who  was  neat  and  so  pretty, 

And  me,  who  felt  far,  far  from  clean; 
For  my  every-day  hat,  it  was  brimless, 

I  was  wearing  no  shoes,  and,  although 
I  knew  not  correct  styles  in  trousers, 

I  felt  mine  were  not  comme  il  faut. 


109 


But  I  kept  a  brave  heart  in  my  sorrow, 

I  did  what  I  felt  was  the  thing 
To  win  your  regard,  and  I  struggled 

As  heroes  have  fought  for  their  king. 
For  out  on  the  play-ground  at  recess, 

In  a  careless  and  nonchalant  way, 
I  stood  on  my  head  and  pretended 

It  was  something  I  did  every  day. 

What  days  ere  I  dared  to  address  you, 

What  days  ere  I  felt  it  was  right 
To  bring  you  an  apple.     I  stole  it, 

And  was  whipped  for  your  sake  that  same  night; 
And  then,  by  a  process  so  subtle 

I  never  could  quite  understand, 
We  had  fathomed  each  other's   deep  feeling, 

And    walked   home    from    school   hand   in   hand. 


no 


Ah,  days  of  the  pure,  young  affections! 

Could   I   feel  as   I   used  to  feel  then, 
Susan  Miggs,  life  would  carry  some  value 

I  should  be  as  a  king  among  men. 
But  try  as  I  may,  and  I  have  tried 

A  thousand  or  more  times,  I  think, 
I  cannot  enkindle  a  rapture 

For  tender  young  maidens  in  pink. 


in 


VANITAS. 

"Vanitas!     Yea,    Vanitatum!" 
Monk,  the  song  wells  forth  full  surely 

From  your  heart,  I  do  believe  it, 
As  you  pass  me  by  demurely, 

With  bowed  head,  and  downcast  eye, 

Rapt  in  earnest  ecstacy. 

"  Vanitas !     Yea,     Vanitatum ! " 
Ah,  but  do  you  really  mean  it, 

As  you  look  into  the  shadow 
Of  the  world  as  you  have  seen  it? 

In  the  days  when  love  was  young: 

Days  when  other  songs  were  sung? 

"  Vanitas !     Yea,     Vanitatum !  " 
Even  as  your  voice  may  cry  it, 

Comes  a  sweet  face  from  oblivion, 
Rising  softly  to  deny  it. 

And  so  full  of  love  it  glows! 

Monk,  what  means  this  faded  rose? 


113 


TO    MISS   S.    (a  stranger.) 

I  cannot  write  a  verse  to  you, 
Pray  think  me  not  a  dunce, 

But  kindly  bear  in  mind  that  I 
Have  only  met  you  once. 

I  cannot  write  a  verse  to  you, 
And,  faith,  with  muse  so  ailing, 

I  shall  not  be  surprised  to  hear 
You  thank  me  for  thus  failing. 


115 


TO    MR.    M.     (a  Scotchman.) 

Of  old,  when  the  lion  emitted  a  wail, 

'Twould  be  found,  upon  closer  inspection, 
That  a  piece  of  Scotch  thistle  had  stuck  in  his  tail, 

Which,   of  course,   would  explain  his  dejection. 
But  now  that  the  rose  and  the  thistle  are  one, 

Combined  in  a  peaceful  communion, 
The  ostrich  and  eagle  advance  hand  in  hand 

To  dance  at  the  fortunate  union. 


117 


A   VALENTINE    BY    THE    AGED. 

I  hope,  Dear,  you'll  remember,  when  you  gaze  upon  these  flowers, 
That  they  represent  much  labor,  m  though  their  voices  may  be 
dumb; 

Why,  after  I  had  gathered  them,  I  must  have  sat  for  hours 

Endeavoring  vainly  to  extract  the  thorns  from  out  rny  thumb. 

I  didn't  know  the  grass  was  wet,  till  I  had  waded  through  it, 
And  I  had  my  carpet  slippers  on,  and  my  dressing-gown  as  well ; 

And  Jane  has  asked  me  frequently,  "How  I  ever  came  to  do  it." 
Which,  really,  when  I  think  of  it,  I  find  it  hard  to  tell. 

I've  caught  a  most  distressing  cold,  my  back  and  legs  are  aching, 
And  my  dressing-gown  is  ruined;  it  was  pongee  of  the  best: 

And  I  fear  I  have  the  prospect  of  a  week  or  more  of  shaking, 
With  mustard  baths  and  quinine  and  a  plaster  on  my  chest. 


119 


I  wouldn't  mind,  if  I  could  feel  you'd  cherish  these,  my  flowers. 

Or  would  think  upon  me  kindly  as  I  sit  with  aching  bones; 
But  I  strongly  am  inclined  to  think  you'll  keep  them  a  few  hours, 

Replacing  them  by  others  from  that  worthless  fellow  Jones. 


120 


SONG. 

Did  you  ever  see  a  man  with  his  legs  so  thin 

You  thought  he'd  break  them  off; 
With  a  melancholy  whisker  on  his  chin, 

And  a  hectic  midnight  cough? 
I  knew  such  a  man,  when  I  was  young, 

In  the  town  from  which  I  came; 
And  you  thought  he'd  do,  till  he  handed  you 

A  card  which  bore  his  name. 
For   his    name    was    Reginald    Archibald    Prettyman, 

Why,   I  never  could  tell. 
He  wasn't  built  for  a  name  like  that, 

And  it  did  not  suit  him  well. 
You  might  have  called  him  Smith  or  Jones, 

And  not  felt  bad  at  that; 
But  to  call  him  Reginald  Archibald  Prettyman 

Makes  you  feel  so  flat. 


121 


Did  you  ever  see  a  woman  who  has  grown  so  fat 

She  does  not  walk  but  floats; 
With  a  forty-seven  collar  and  a  two-inch  hat, 

And  a  waist  like  a  bag  of  oats? 
She  cruises  along  in  an  armor-plated  way 

Without  a  thought  of  shame; 
And  it  makes  you  ill  when  you  hear  the  people  say, 

"Why,  there  goes  What's-Her-Name." 
For  her  name  is  Constance  Daisy  Willoughby, 

Why,  I  never  could  tell; 
She  wasn't  built  for  a  name  like  that, 

And  it  does  not  suit  her  well. 
You  might  have  called  her  Smith  or  Jones, 

And  not  felt  bad  at  that: 
But  to  call  her  Constance  Daisy  Willoughby 

Makes  you  feel  so  flat. 


122 


Did  you  ever  see  a  man  with  his  legs  so  short, 

He  has  not  an  inch  to  spare; 
A   roily-poly    figure  and  a  simple  sort 

Of  half-done,  childish  air? 
He  may  be  small  and  of  no  account, 

But  he  isn't  all  to  blame, 
And  it's  hard  on  him  to  carry  around 

A  proud,  historic  name. 
For  his  name  is  Caesar  Bounaparte  Hannibal, 

Why,  I  never  could  tell; 
He  wasn't  built  for  a  name  like  that, 

And  it  does  not  suit  him  well. 
You  might  have  called  him  Smith  or  Jones, 

And  not  felt  bad  at  that; 
But  to  call  him  Caesar  Bounaparte  Hannibal 

Makes  you  feel  so  flat. 


123 


THE    STRANGER'S    ERROR. 

Of  course,  I  hain't  a-sayin' 

That  for  preachin'  and  for  prayin' 
The  camp  at  Eagle  Corners  is  entitled  to  a  prize; 

But  I  says,  and  says  emphatic, 

That  perliteness  is  our  racket, 
And   the   feller   what   denies   it — well,   them   fellers   mostly   dies. 

Now  the  styles  and  fashions  changes 

With  the  places  where  you  ranges, 
And  the  style  of  Rome  or  Paree  ain't  the  Corners'  style  at  all ; 

Just  to  hear  the  langwidge  showed  it, 

And  the  stranger  might  hev'  knowed  it 
'Fore  he  went  a-Iearnin'  manners  to  a  man  like  Squint  McCall. 

Squint,  he  owned  the  Susan  Smily, 

Back  of  Dead  Horse,  him  and  Reilly, 
And  the  stranger  come  to  buy  it,  leastwise  that  was  what  was  said ; 

For  the  stranger  he  kept  quiet, 

Didn't  say  so  nor  deny  it 
Till  we  come  to  meet  him  later,  but  by  that  time  he  was  dead. 


125 


Mac  of  course  explained  it  fairly; 

Said  he  seldom,  very  rarely, 
Had  occasion  to  deprive  a  feller  critter  of  his  life; 

But  the  thing  that  set  him  crazy 

Was  to  hev'  that  two-bit  daisy 
Tellin'  him  it  warn't  proper  to  eat  taters  with  his  knife. 

"There  he  sot,"  said  Mac,  a-fillin' 

Of  his  pipe,  "And  I  was  willin' 
To've  accommodated  of  him  to  most  anything  he'd  ask; 

Special  effort  hed  been  makin', 

There  was  extra  beans  and  bacon, 
And  some  long  cut  and  some  very  extra  whiskey  in  that  flask. 

But  by  gum!  he  wanted  towels; 

Said  the  whiskey  hurt  his  bowels; 
And  he  asked  fer  eggs,  as  though  I'd  go  and  git  'em  off  a  goat. 

And  on  what  particular  member 

Jumped  the  beans  I  disremember, 
But  the  'baccy  was  a  most  etarnal  pisen  to  his  throat. 


126 


And  the  bunk,  it  didn't  fit  him, 

And  the  fleas  or  somethin'  bit  him; 
And  about  the  time  he  went  to  sleep  I  called  him  to  git  up: 

And  the  mornin'  air  was  chilly, 

And  the  country  was  too  hilly, 
And  the  dinged  old  dog  she  bit  his  leg  for  foolin'  with  her  pup. 

So  he  constant  kept  on  rilin' 

Of  my  humor,  and  a-spilin' 
My  intentions  till  by  supper  I  was  snoopin'  round  fer  strife; 

And  he  said,  'Well,   well,  I  never! 

It  is  really  deuced  clever, 
You  are  eatin'  them  pertaters  and  you're  swallerin'  your  knife.' 

Then  I  thought  fer  just  a  minit', 

And  the  next — well,  we  was  in  it ; 
And  if  he'd  had  sand  it  might  hev'  bin  the  purtiest  kind  of  fight; 

And  the  cause  of  the  incision 

In  the  stranger,  it  is  his'n, 
Fer  lackin'  the  first  principles  of  how  to  be  perlite." 


127 


Then  us  fellers  got  together, 

And  we  argified  it  whether 
There  was  any  special  question  how  the  stranger  went  and  died. 

And  it  seemed  O'Hara's  motion 

Kinder  struck  the  general  notion 
That  the  stranger  had  been  guilty  of  determined  suicide. 


128 


OUR   LADY   OF   DREAMS. 

When  the  feast  is  resplendent  and  glowing, 

With  laughter  and  wit  at  their  best, 
And  the  warm  southern  vintages  flowing 

Unlock  the  best  thoughts  of  the  breast; 
When  come  are  the  moments  elysian, 

And  life  like  a  fairy  tale  seems, 
There  enters  a  something — a  vision — 

A  thought  of  "Our  Lady  of  Dreams." 

Her  hair  is  done  up  in  curl  papers, 

Her  hands  on  the  coverlid  lie, 
And  you  catch,  by  the  light  of  the  tapers, 

The  gleam  of  a  threatening  eye; 
There's  a  calmness  that  will  not  dissemble 

Where  the  night  light  burns  constant  and  dim, 
A  cold,  deadly  calm — and  you  tremble, 

For  you  know  she  is  waiting  for  HIM. 


You  know  she  is  waiting  to  ask  him 

The  hour  when  he  deigned  to  arrive; 
With  the  stern,  barren  truth  she  will  task  him, 

For  she  knows  it  is  quarter-past  five; 
And  she  wishes  to  urge  the  suggestion 

How  such  conduct  to  decent  folk  seems; 
He's  averse  to  discussing  the  question 

Advanced  by  "Our  Lady  of  Dreams." 

She  speaks  not.     He  muses  on  whether 

He'd  feel  quite  as  bad  if  she  spoke; 
And  he  tries  to  improve  on  the  weather 

By  telling  the  latest  new  joke. 
A  something  whose  recent  disclosure 

Awoke  the  boys'  laughter  to  screams ; 
It  dies  of  indecent  exposure 

When  told  to  "Our  Lady  of  Dreams." 


130 


O    Angel  that's  given  to  guide  us 

Adown  the  long  pathway  of  life, 
Remember  the  pleasure  denied  us, 

We  can't  be  a  suffering  wife. 
And  think,  in  the  midst  of  your  scorning, 

In  the  midst  of  your  innocent  dreams, 
O  think  of  his  head  in  the  morning, 

And  pardon — "Our  Lady  of  Dreams." 


131 


WILL   IT   SEEM   LESS   FAIR. 

When  the  flesh  falls  from  me  and  I  am  I, 
With  the  wonderful  spaces  to  wander  through, 
The  dreams  to  dream  and  the  deeds  to  do 
That  may  not  or  cannot  be  pictured  here, 
Will  the  world,  I  wonder,  appear  less  dear, 
The  little  brown  world  that  I  one  time  knew? 

When   the   great   wide   spaces   are   mine  indeed, 
With  all  of  the  glory  that  blossoms  there, 
The  high,  pure  thoughts  in  the  quiet  air, 
And  the  spirit  faces  that  glisten  so, 
Will  an  earthly  face  that  I  used  to  know, 
A  wistful  face — Will  it  seem  less  fair? 


133 


ALL   IS   WELL. 

The  salt  waves,   tireless,   beat  upon   the  sand 

As  beat  the  waves  in  ages  long  before; 
The  giant  pines  within  the  forest  stand 

Hushed  with  the  memories  of  days  of  yore; 
And,  wiser  with  the  knowledge  born  of  years, 

To  the  ephemeral  race  of  men  that  dwell, 
A  moment's  space,  they  bring  a  truce  to  tears, 

Bearing  the  constant  message,  "All  is  well." 

The  wondrous  planets,  whiter  than  the  dawn, 

Swing  through  the  universe;  with  patient  gaze 
They  mark  the  new  world  clusters  glowing  born, 

Or  note  a  stricken  world's  expiring  blaze. 
And,  to  the  ephemeral  pine  trees  and  the  sea 

That  on  the  twinkling  worlds  a  moment  dwell, 
They  send  their  deep-toned  notes  of  sympathy, 

Bearing  the  constant  message,  "All  is  well." 


135 


O  soul  of  man,  that  woke  with  the  first  pine! 

Or  listened  first  to  the  great  ocean's  roar! 
What  myriad  lives  between  thy  days  and  mine 

'Neath  that  same  pine  or  on  that  self-same  shore! 
Still  down  the  corridors  of  time  they  fare, 

That  host,  whose  goal  the  silence  will  not  tell; 
Only  from  sea    and  shore,  and  outer  air, 

Is  borne  the  constant  message,  "All  is  well." 


136 


TO   MY   WIFE. 

The  years  are  gliding  by,  Dear, 

And  you  and  I  must  wend 
Our  paths  together  now,  Dear, 

Together  to  the   end; 
And  sweet  it  is  to  me  to  glance 

Down  these  long  years  of  life 
And  know  that  you  will  walk  by  me 

Forever,  My  Dear  Wife. 

When  youth's  first  strength  I  felt,  Dear, 

With  all  the  world  to  face, 
I  dreamed  of  fame  and  name,  Dear, 

I  thought  of  power  and  place; 
But  only  one  thought  holds  me  now, 

But  one  dream  thrills  me  through, 
A  sweet  and  quiet  home,  My  Love, 

Where  I  can  be  with  you. 


137 


I  had  no  thought  of  God,  Dear, 

I  did  not  care  to  know 
What  other  worlds  there  were,  Dear, 

Where  I  might  some  day  go; 
But  now  I  hope,  and,  hoping,  feel 

That  through  eternity, 
In  happy  heavens  that  lie  beyond 

I  still  may  walk  with  thee. 

Then  take  these  passing  words,  Dear, 

As  tribute  from  my  heart; 
They  may  be  simple  thoughts,  Dear, 

And  told  with  little  art; 
But  you  have  filled  my  barren  life 

With  wealth  it  never  knew, 
And  I  would  fain  express,  in  turn, 

The  love  I  bear  for  you. 


138 


STEPHANIE. 

"Come,"  he  remarked,  "on  Sunday  next, 
And  spend  the  day  and  night  with  me; 

It's  sweltering  here,  and  wife  will  be 
So  pleased,  and  so  will  Stephanie." 

So   I   obeyed.      And   as   I  rode, 
Hour  after  hour,  in  fancy  free, 

I  mused  on  many  things,  but  most 
I  mused  on  unknown  Stephanie. 

Light?    Dark?    I  wonder.     Light,  I  hope; 

Eyes  deep  and  tender  as  the  sea; 
Soft  hands,  small  form  in  lawn  enwrapt, 

The  guileless,  lovely  Stephanie. 


139 


To-night  the  moon  will  be  at  full: 

I  wonder  now  if,  after  tea, 
We  two  will  stroll  in  calm  content 

Together,  I  and  Stephanie. 

Soft  will  the  air  be,  soft  and  calm: 
Shadows  will  lie  across  the  lea; 

At  peace  all  nature;  and  at  peace 
I  with  the  witching  Stephanie. 

From  the  wide  fields  will  float  a  haze; 

The  toads  will  chirp  from  tree  to  tree; 
And  all  the  air  will  ring  with  notes 

Of  crickets  calling  Stephanie. 

The  place  at  last!    The  hot  train  throbs; 

I  stroll  the  lane,  the  house  I  see, 
And  there  mine  host  and  family.     Gods! 

I  will  NOT  stroll  with  Stephanie! 


140 


BABY  OF  MINE 

What  do  you  see  with  the  big  blue  eyes, 

Baby  of  mine,  of  mine? 
Wonderful  things  in  the  wide  blue  skies, 

Baby  of  mine,  of  mine. 
Wonderful  things  when  the  sun  is  high, 
And  the  day  is  warm,  and  the  clouds  float  by, 
And  wonderful  things  when  the  swallows  fly 
And  the  long  day  slowly  dies. 

I  wish  I  could  see  it  again  with  you, 

Baby  of  mine,  of  mine. 
The  long  dear  journey  again  go  through, 

Baby  of  mine,  of  mine. 
That  God  could  take  me  and  lead  again 
That  wonderful  walk  down  the  long,  long  lane, 
From  babyhood  wonder  through  youth's  dear  plain, 
To  the  fields  of  sober  hue. 


141 


I  envy  you,  baby,  the  way  that  lies, 

Baby  of  mine,  of  mine, 
Under  the  blue  of  the  beautiful  skies, 

Baby  of  mine,  of  mine. 
I  envy  you,  baby;  but  it  may  be, 
When  free  is  the  spirit  and  eyes  can  see, 
A  way  more  wonderful  waits  for  me, 
A  way  through  paradise. 


142 


LOUISE. 

Down  by  the  shore  where  the  willows  grow, 

In  the  spot  we  both  have  known, 
I  am  sitting  again  in  the  sunset  glow, 

But  alas!  I  am  here  alone; 
The  wild  birds  call  to  the  nesting  mate, 

And  the  swallows  wing  them  free, 
And  they  tell  of  the  days  that  are  gone,  My  Love, 

Of  the  days  that  are  gone  with  thee. 

Louise,  Louise,  the  river  still  is  flowing, 
The  sunlight's  kiss  is  on   the  silent  sea, 

And  every  breeze  across  the  meadow  blowing 

Repeats  my  cry,  "Come  back,  come  back  to  me." 


143 


Still  is  the  wild-wood  path  the  same, 

Where  my  tale  of  love  I  told; 
And  across  by  the  creek  all  the  sumacs  flame, 

With  the  brave,  gallant  flame  of  old. 
Dear  Heart,  I  have  wandered  the  wide  world  o'er, 

And  have  learned  all  that  life  may  be; 
But  again  I  have  come  to  the  old,  old  place, 

And  my  cry  is  for  love  and  thee. 

Louise,  Louise,  the  river  still  is  flowing, 
The  sunlight's  kiss  is  on  the  silent  sea; 

And  every  breeze  across  the  meadow  blowing 

Repeats  my  cry,  "Come  back,  come  back  to  me." 


144 


APOLOGY. 

You  ask  me  to  pen  you  a  rhyme, 

But  the  fair  fickle  muse  seems  to  shun  me; 

And  when  I  would  woo 

With  a  long  sigh  or  two, 

She  turns  her  pert  back  full  upon  me. 

1  sigh  for  a  day  or  two  more, 

And  then  I  go  smiling  and  singing, 

Forgetting  the  elf; 

When  behold  her  sweet  self 

Is  beside  me,  all  tearful  and  clinging. 

So  mistress,  believe  when  I  say 

I  would  gladly  comply  with  your  tasking; 
But  I  know,  if  I  do, 
I  shall  lose  my  dear  shrew, 

And  you  will  gain  naught  by  the  asking. 


145 


TO  A  FRIEND. 

The   winged   steed,    perchance   you   know, 
Bends  not  to  bridle,  rein  or  bit; 

But  wanders,  uncontrolled,  where  grow 
The  flowers  of  beauty,  grace  and  wit. 

So,  in  the  fields  of  common  talk 
That  round  my  daily  pathway  lie, 

He  enters  not,  and  I  must  walk 
Along  with  sombre  company. 

Till,  on  a  sudden  day  of  grace, 

Beside  my  path  good  friends  appear, 

With  wit  to  beautify  the  place; 
And,  lo!  the  fabled  steed  is  here. 


147 


TO  YOSEMITE. 

The  silence  of  the  centuries! 

The  calm  where  doublings  cease! 
And  over  all  the  brooding  of  God's  presence, 

And  the  spell  of  perfect  peace. 

O  Granite  Cliffs  that  steadfast  face  the  dawn! 

O  Forest  Kings  that  heard  Creation's  sigh ! 
Teach  me  thy  simple  creed,  that,  living,  I 

May  live  like  thee,  and  as  serenely  die. 


149 


EVENING   SOLILOQUY. 

Cloud  mass  on  cloud  aspiring, 

Besiege   the   darkening   dome; 
On  broad  wings  wafting,  tiring, 

The  sea-birds  wend  them  home, 
In  rhythmic,  solemn  motion, 

While  the  last  sunset  ray 
Flings  out,  to  earth  and  ocean, 

The  farewell  of  the  day. 
And,  by  the  salt  waves  leaping 

In  pulsing,  endless  quest, 
My  idle  vigil  keeping, 

Alone  with  my  unrest, 
In  dimning  light  I  ponder 

On  crimson  cloud  and  sky, 
And  send  my  soul  to  wander 

In  fancy,  as  would  I, 
Where  all  is  gold  and  glory, 

And  all  is  sought  and  won, 


151 


Where  told  is  all  the  story 

And  all  the  toil  is  done; 
And  gone  is  all  the  weeping, 

The  fretting  and  the  fears, 
The  gleaning  and  the  reaping, 

The  laughter  and  the  tears; 
For  just  beyond  the  veiling 

Of  crimson  cloud  and  sky, 
In  calm  that  knows  no  wailing 

The  happy  Islands  lie. 
Ah,  here  is  no  endeavor, 

And  here  is  no  emprise; 
The  storm  winds  beat  it  never, 

The  glad  sun  never  dies; 
The  dread  years  never  bringing 

The  burden  of  regret; 
Dead   sorrows   never   clinging 

To  days  we  would  forget; 


152 


Nor  fear  of  all  the  morrows 

Nor  any  sombre  dawn; 
Confronting   formless  sorrows, 

With  faces  worn  and  wan. 
But,  as  with  purpose  single, 

The  river  seeks  the  sea, 
My  life  with  love  shall  mingle 

And  all  be  all  in  me; 
All  peace  and  pleasure  blending 

In  one  completed  one; 
Through  years  that  swing  unending, 

Beneath  an  endless  sun. 


153 


A  LEGEND. 

(Lines  written  on  the  marriage  of  the  daughter  of  a  friend.) 

The  legends  say,  a  knight  once  passed 
Amidst  the  ruins  of  the  vast, 
Dead  cities,  where  had  once  been  set 
The  thrones  of  kings  whom  men  forget; 
On  the  huge  mounds,  where  empires  sleep, 
The  simple  shepherd  fed  his  sheep, 
And  in  the  halls,  where  kings  held  sway, 
The  Arab  children  were  at  play; 
Menes  and  Pharoah,  names  sublime, 
Whose  sceptres  sunk  to  conquering  time, 
Till  now  were  left,  to  mark  their  fall, 
A  few  crude  pictures  on  a  wall. 
"Father,"  he  cried,  "and  is  there  then 
No  king  immortal  among  men? 
No  Sovereign  Lord,  whose  pomp  and  power 
Shall  mock  at  time  and  spurn  the  hour? 
Such  would  I  choose  my  Lord  to  be, 
To  such  alone  would  bend  the  knee." 


155 


Then  said  the  aged  sage  and  kind, 

"That  Lord  exists,  ride  forth  and  find." 

Then  forth  he  rode,  on  questing  bound, 

And  ever  sought,  but  never  found, 

Until,  one  day,  upon  an  hour, 

Seeking  repose  within  the  bower 

Of  the  dear  lady  he  loved  best, 

He  told  her  of  his  hopeless  quest. 

She  heard  and  turned  her  face  away, 

Dreaming  in  far-off,  gentle  way, 

And  then  made  answer,  smiling  bright, 

"Quest  easy  to  achieve,  Sir  Knight." 

"Easy,"  he  cried,  "then  do  you  know 

The  Lord  for  whom  I  wander  so?" 

When,  on  a  sudden,  as  the  flame 

Bursts  in  the  tinder,  answer  came, 

For,  looking  in  her  eyes  of  blue, 

He  saw  Love  throned  there — and  he  knew. 


156 


So,  Lady  Fair,  whose  life  crossed  mine 
So  brief  a  space  beneath  the  pine, 
To-day  the  orange  blossoms  prove 
You,  too,  a  subject  of  King  Love — 
A  member  of  a  court  whose  sway 
Began  upon  earth's  natal  day, 
And  will  endure,  'neath  every  sun, 
Till  the  creation's  race  is  run. 
Be  not  afraid,  though  mighty,  he 
Is  gentle  as  a  child  should  be; 
And  though  so  powerful,  there  lies 
The  softest  light  within  his  eyes, 
Until  you  cross  him,  Lady  Fair, 
But  when  you  do,  beware,  beware! 
Then  let  me,  as  an  offering, 
Upon  this  day  this  legend  bring; 
And  as  the  bards,  in  olden  days, 
Lightened  the  feasting  with  their  lays, 


157 


Such  custom  may  this  bard  renew 
And  laise  this  song  to  Love  and  you: 

SONG. 

In  the  blue  of  her  eyes  and  the  light  of  her  smile 
Is  a  power  that  will  fade  from  us  never; 

Gone,  gone  are  the  kingdoms  of  Greece  and  the  Nile, 
But  the  kingdom  of  Love  is  forever. 

To  kings  some  may  bow,  some  be  subject  to  none, 
The  custom  is  much  as  we  make  it; 

But  how  we  all  hasten  to  bow  to  the  one, 

The  yoke  of  this  king,  who  would  shake  it? 

Full  happy  the  lot  which  your  future  shall  bring: 
May  your  burden  of  care  be  the  lightest: 

And  you  at  the  court  of  our  Master  and  King 
Among  the  bright  Fair  be  the  brightest. 


158 


SERENADE 

Deep  in  the  shadows  my  boat  I  leave, 

Where  the  willow  boughs  hang  over; 
Tangled  grass  of  the  fields  I  cleave, 

To  the  home — the  home  of  my  lover; 
There  where  the  flowers  in  the  garden  blow, 

All  the  warm  night  air  perfuming, 
There  waits  the  girl  of  my  heart,  I  know, 

For  the  bliss  of  our  sweet  communing. 

Sweet  is  the  greeting  the  roses  fling 

To  the  skies  that  bend  above  them; 
Sweet  is  the  message  the  breezes  bring 

To  the  flowers,  the  flowers  that  love  them; 
Sweet  are  the  notes  of  the  wild  bird's  call 

To  its  mate  the  forest  over; 
Dearer  and  sweeter  and  best  of  all 

Is  the  kiss,  is  the  kiss  of  my  lover. 


159 


ONCE  ON  A  TIME. 

Once  on  a  time  I  saw  a  rosebud  growing, 

Upon  a  bush  within  a  garden  fair, 

While  all  around  it  tender  buds  were  blowing, 

And  gentle  breezes  passed  and  kissed  it  there; 

But  still  it  gave  no  heed  upon  its  stem, 

Nor  ope'd  its  heart,  nor  listened  aught  to  them, 

Until  a  wandering  sunbeam,  passing  by, 

Approached  and  kissed  it  long  and  tenderly; 

And  then  the  rose  awoke  to  life  and  bloom, 

Awoke  to  sweetest  beauty  and  perfume, 

And,  on  the  breeze  about  the  garden  winging, 

I  seemed  to  hear  the  echo  of  this  singing; 

'"Tis  the  sun,  tis'  the  sun  that  is  master  of  all, 

When  life  to  fruition  is  swelling, 

*  Tis  the  sun,  'tis  the  sun  that  awakes  with  a  call 

That  is  dulcet  and  dear  yet  compelling; 

'  Tis  the  sun,  'tis  the  sun  that  must  ever  disclose 

Life's  joys  to  the  buds  that  are  tender, 

And  the  heart  of  the  virgin  and  blossoming  rose 

Yields  once  in  a  gentle  surrender." 


161 


Once  on  a  time  I  saw  a  maiden  straying 

The  peaceful  pathway  of  her  life  along, 

While  all  about  were  youthful  fancies  playing, 

And  in  the  sunlight  whispered  love's  sweet  song; 

But  still  she  gave  no  heed  upon  her  way, 

Nor  cared  for  ought  the  songs  of  love  might  say, 

Until  her  own  dear  lover,  passing  by, 

Approached  and  kissed  her  long  and  tenderly; 

And  then  the  maid  awoke  to  life  and  song, 

Awoke  to  beauty  all  the  dear  day  long, 

And,  in  the  breeze  about  her  pathway  winging, 

I  seemed  to  hear  the  echo  of  this  singing; 

"It  is  love,  it  is  love  that  is  master  of  all, 

When  life  to  fruition  is  swelling, 

It  is  love,  it  is  love  that  awakes  with  a  call 

That  is  dulcet  and  dear  yet  compelling; 

It  is  love,  it  is  love  that  must  ever  disclose 

The  exquisite  dreams  and  the  tender, 

And  the  heart  of  the  maid,  like  the  heart  of  the  rose, 

Yields  once  in  a  gentle  surrender." 


162 


SANTA  CLAUS'  LAMENT. 

Once,  when  very  far  from  home, 

On  some  business,  I'll  not  mention, 
Wandering  where  white  bears  roam, 

Bears  with  not  the  best  intention; 
Lo!  I  saw  a  house  before  me, 

Queer  old  house  with  peak  and  gable, 
And  a  sudden  thought  came  o'er  me, 

"  I  will  enter  if  I'm  able." 
Queer  old  door  I  passed  me  by  it, 

Queer  old  rooms  with  queer  old  ceilings, 
And  I  tip-toed,  silent,  quiet, 

And  I  had  such  queer  old  feelings; 
Never  was  another  mansion 

Built  like  this  one,  I  am  certain; 
'Twas  a  place  of  large  expansion, 

At  each  door  a  great  white  curtain 
Hid  the  rooms  beyond  extended, 

Rooms  from  which  no  echo  sounded; 
Not  a  voice  or  foot-fall  blended 

With  the  silence  which  surrounded, 


163 


All  the  walls,  which  sparkled  whitely, 

Sprays  of  evergreen  adorning 
Made  it  seem  like  Xmas  rightly, 

Very  early  Xmas  morning, 
Just  before  the  fires  are  lighted, 

When  the  cold  is  something  shocking, 
And  half  frozen,  half  affrighted 

You  get  up  to  hunt  your  stocking. 
And,  what  aided  the  illusion, 

Over  all  the  place  were  lying 
Heaps  of  toys  in  wild  confusion, 

Heaps,  it  really  was  most  trying; 
There  were  guns,  and  dolls,  and  dragons, 

Kites,  and  bears  with  keys  to  wind  them, 
Drums,  and  whips,  and  long  red  wagons, 

Sheep  that  had  their  tails  behind  them, 
Marbles,  tops,  and  lovely  houses 

Filled  with  furniture  and  dishes, 
Soldier  men  in  bright  red  blouses, 

Little  ponds  with  ducks  and  fishes, 


164 


Animals,  that  when  you  wanted, 

Moved  their  heads  and  started  bleating, 
Chinese  gods  that  all  seemed  haunted 

By  the  fate  of  over-eating; 
Noah's  arks,  with  all  the  people 

Very  stiff  and  most  unsteady, 
One  church  with  a  tall  sharp  steeple, 

Barnyards,  with  the  wagons  ready. 
As  I  stood  there  thus  astounded, 

All  about  me  peering,  prying, 
From  a  room  adjacent  sounded 

All  at  once  a  noise  of  crying; 
And  astonishment  came  o'er  me 

And  I  said  "  It's  very  certain 
Someone  else  is  here  before  me 

In  that  room  behind  that  curtain." 
So  I  went  and  peered,  and  peering, 

Very,  very  quiet  keeping, 
Saw  an  aged  man  appearing 

Seated  by  a  table  weeping; 


165 


He  was  plump,  and  round,  and  hearty, 

With  white  hair  and  beard  befitting, 
And  this  aged  stricken  party 

In  a  large  white  chair  was  sitting. 
"  Sir,"  said  I,  at  once  addressing 

With  respect,  and  bowing  lowly, 
"  Why  this  grief  so  deep  distressing?  " 

Then   he  raised  his  head  up,  slowly 
Spoke  and  said:  "  For  years  unnumbered, 

All  the  great,  great,  wide  world  over, 
While  the  little  children  slumbered, 

Have  I  wandered  as  a  rover 
Bringing  toys,  and  games  and  candy, 

To  the  little  children  sleeping; 
Filling  stockings  hanging  handy, 

Loading  trees  when  no  one's  peeping. 
Very  early,  Xmas  morning, 

You  can  hear  my  horn  a-blowing; 
Hear  my  sleigh-bells  ringing  warning, 

See  me,  too,  if  it's  not  snowing. 


166 


But,  although  I  travel  yearly, 

All  the  great  big,  round  world  over, 
And  I  love  the  children  dearly. 

Not  a  child  can  I  discover, 
Who  has  ever  thought  to  send  me 

Toy  or  game,  or  greeting  kindly: 
Do  you  wonder  they  offend  me, 

Or  that  I  am  v/eeping  blindly? 
Year  by  year,  experience  scorning, 

At  the  grate  I've  hung  my  stocking, 
But  it's  empty  Xmas  morning." 

Said  I,     Santa,  this  is  shocking; 
I  am  sure  there's  no  intention 

Mongst  the  children  to  neglect  you! 
If  you  only  would  make  mention 

Of  the  hour  when  they'd  expect  you, 
They'd  be  up  and  waiting  surely 

With  a  very  hearty  greeting." 
But  he  shook  his  head  demurely, 

Said:  "  I  do  not  want  a  meeting; 


167 


What  I  want  is  to  be  sleeping 

All  night  long,  and,  just  at  morning, 
Climb  out  softly  and  go  creeping 

To  the  mantel,  without  warning, 
Find  my  stocking  brimming  over 

Hanging  by  the  mantel  handy, 
Then  creep  back  beneath  the  cover, 

Count  the  toys  and  eat  the  candy; 
This  is  what  I've  been  expecting 

But  the  children  all  forget  me." 
And  I  said,  "  This  needs  correcting: 

I  will  aid  you  if  you'll  let  me." 
"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  Upon  returning, 

Pray  make  mention  of  my  wishes, 
Tell  them  how  my  soul  is  yearning 

For  a  drum  or  bright  red  dishes; 
For  a  gun,  or  belt  and  sabre, 

Or  a  lovely  candy  woman 
With  a  candy  man  as  neighbor, 

Painted  to  look  almost  human; 


168 


Tell  them  such  a  gift  will  teach  me 

They  are  thinking  of  me  kindly; 
By  express  or  mail  'twill  reach  me, 

Santa  Claus,  North  Pole,  will  find  me. 
Thus  he  spake,  and  speaking  slowly, 

Quite  unlooked-for  and  unaided 
From  before  my  eyes,  he  wholly 

And  he  most  completely  faded: 
And  I  looked  about  uncertain, 

In  a  way  confused,  surprising, 
Till  I  saw  my  bed-room  curtain, 

And  the  morning  sun  arising. 


169 


ENVOY. 

Ye  songs  are  sung,  and  round  about 
The  people  crowd  beside  me; 

Some  few  indeed  give  praises  out, 
Ye  balance,  they  deride  me. 

I  cannot  say  that  I  am  blest 
By  critic,  rude  or  proper, 

But  will  remark  that  I'll  be  blest 
If  I  give  ought  a  copper, 

For  any  critique,  bad  or  good, 
Or  scanty  praise  or  plenty, 

If  only  I  have  hit  the  mood 

Of  young  miss  sweet  and  twenty. 


171 


YEARNING. 

There  is  a  voice  I  almost  hear 
Of  one  forever  at  my  side ; 
A  voice  that  fain  would  speak  to  me, 
And  tell  me  all  I  wish  to  know ; 
How  spring  the  flowers,  why  grasses  grow ; 
What  means  the  tossing  of  the  sea 
And  what  the  wide  world's  mystery 
And  I — I  know  the  words  are  clear ; 
But  Oh,  alas,  I  cannot  hear. 

There  is  a  land,  I  know,  that  lies 
Where  not  a  boundary  is  set. 
A  land  serene,  and  Oh,  so  fair, 
Where  clouds  of  doubt  no  longer  roll 
To  dim  the  sky  and  fright  the  soul ; 

And  all  I  love  are  waiting  there 
Transfigured  in  the  sinless  air ; 
And  I — I  know  they  signal  me ; 
But  Oh,  alas,  I  cannot  see. 


173 


SONGS 

FROM 

PROPOSED    LIGHT    OPERAS 


KING'S  SONG. 

My  daughter,  you  are  going  to  leave  your  pa; 
At  least  I  am  assuming  that  you  are. 

For,  if  you  propose  to  live 

With  your  daddy,  I  will  give 
A  tip  that  you  have  missed  your  car. 
For  it  breaks  my  heart  with  you  to  part, 

And  to  walk  my  way  alone. 
But  don't  hesitate  to  go,  for  I  think  you  know 

I  have  troubles  enough  of  my  own. 

If  this  thing  is  your  husband  that's  to  be, 
I  wouldn't  give  a  blessed  sou  marquee, 

For  a  dozen  of  his  kind, 

Though  it's  well  to  bear  in  mind 

That  he  perhaps  may  useful  be; 
For  when  you  go  to  your  home,  you  know, 

You  won't  forget  your  dad; 
And  you'll  say  with  regret,  "There  are  others  yet, 

And  the  old  man's  not  so  bad." 


175 


Young  man  that  is  or  used  to  be, 
I  give  to  you  my  blessing,  it  is  free; 

You'll  need  it,  by  and  by, 

But  I  needn't  tell  you  why, 
For  I'm  married,  and  look  at  me. 
And  a  bird  will  sing  of  love  in  the  spring 

From  the  top  of  a  sycamore  tree; 
And  you'll  turn  your  eyes  on  your  love  with  surprise, 

And  you'll  wish  that  bird  to  be. 

For  love  makes  you  feel  like  a  bird,  so  I've  heard, 

At  least  so  the  poets  say; 
And  though  the  fowl  be  a  gander  or  an  owl, 

It  works  just  the  same  that  way. 


176 


KING'S   PREROGATIVE. 

Oh  what  a  snap  is  a  prerogative! 

It  beats  most  any  old  thing; 
Nothing  about  it  that's  derogative 

To  the  position  of  a  King. 
For  a  Senator  may  break  loose  some  day, 

Or  a  President  come  it  rather  strong; 
But  the  King's  all  right,  if  he  gets  tight, 

For  the  King  can  do  no  wrong. 

You  ought  to  see  me  when  I'm  wearing  it 

Right  side  up  with  care; 
You'd  be  so  impressed,  I'm  swearing  it, 

You'd  go  crazy  then  and  there. 
For  that  sort  of  thing  just  fits  a  King, 

And  no  one  else,  you  see; 
So  by  day  or  night  the  King's  all  right, 

And  the  King,  you  know,  means  me. 


177 


LOVE,  THY  PINIONS. 

Love,  thy  pinions  are  as  light  as  air, 

Flying  from  the  dear  one,  far  away; 
Swift  thou  speedest  from  the  silent  prayer, 

Swift  from  voice  that  bids  thee  stay. 
But  when  lover's  heart  to  heart  is  crying, 

O'er  the  parting  earth  and  o'er  the  sea, 
Love,  oh,  Love,  how  leaden  is  thy  flying, 

There  is  none  with  wing  as  slow  as  thee. 

Love,  thy  fancy  is  as  light  as  air, 

Straying  as  the  wanton  breezes  stray; 
None  can  catch  and  bind  or  hold  thee  there, 

None  by  pleading  prayer  can  bid  thee  stay. 
But  when  lover's  heart  would  cease  its  yearning, 

Turned  to  other  fonder  hearts  that  be, 
Love,  oh,  Love,  how  quick  is  thy  returning, 

There  is  none  with  wing  as  swift  as  thee. 


179 


I  WOULDN'T  MIND  A  LITTLE  THING  LIKE  THAT 

When  you've  got  a  rooted  sorrow  that  is  gnawing  at  your  core, 

And  it  seems  that  life  will  never  smile  again; 
When   your   eyes   with   tears   are   blinded   and   your   heart   with 
grief  is  sore, 

And  your  days  and  nights  are  filled  with  woe  and  pain ; 
It  is  such  a  soothing  solace  when  a  friend  of  other  days, 

A  happy  friend,  round,  jolly,  gay  and  fat, 
Comes  up  and  listens  calmly  to  your  tale  of  woe  and  says, 

"I  wouldn't  mind  a  little  thing  like  that." 

It  was  only  in  last  August  that  I  backed  the  losing  team, 

And  I  played  the  slot  machines  without  a  pair ; 
And  I  spoke  the  name  of  Stella  in  a  quiet  little  dream, 

And  awoke  with  fingers  fastened  in  my  hair. 
I  told  a  friend  about  it,  and  he  said,  in  mild  surprise, 

"I  wouldn't" — but  I  seized  a  handy  bat, 
And  brained  him,  and  I  whispered  as  I  closed  his  dying  eyes, 

"I  wouldn't  mind  a  little  thing  like  that." 


181 


I  can  bear  it  like  a  stoic  when  another  fellow  dies, 

And  I  don't  take  on  so  badly  when  he's  ill; 
And  if  ill-luck  comes  upon  him  I  can  say,  "Oh,  blast  my  eyes," 

But  I  really  do  not  say  it  with  a  will. 
All  such  troubles  are  but  trifles,  simply  trifles  light  as  air; 

And  I  cannot  see  a  thing  to  grumble  at; 
I  can  say  and  just  observe  with  what  a  calm,  superior  air, 

"I  wouldn't  mind  a  little  thing  like  that." 


182 


SONG. 

(Princess  and  Lord  Chamberlain) 

P.  I  am  going  to  mate  and  marry  ere  this  happy  day  is 

done. 

L.  C.  But  you're  not  going  to  mate  and  marry  me. 

P.  There  are  husbands  here  in  plenty,   and  I  purpose 

to  have  one. 

L.  C.  Excuse  me;  I'm  off  to  climb  a  tree, 

p.  It  would  seem  that  any  daughter  of  a  kingly  race 

had  oughter 

Find  a  husband  to  her  fancy  if  she'd  only  make  a  try. 
L.  C.  Though  your  grammar  is  defective,  you've  a  power 

of   invective 
That   is   marvelous,    and   therefore    I    confess   that   I 

feel  shy. 


183 


Chorus — For  he  won't  marry,  though  she  would  so, 

And  she  says  "Yes"  while  he  says  "No"; 
And  it's  hard  to  arrange  the  thing,  you  know, 
When  the  maid  is  willing,  but  the  man  is  slow. 

P.  O'er  my   Love   I'll   cling   and   clamber,   like  an  ivy 

on  a  wall. 
L.  C.  But  you'll  not  cling  and  clamber  over  me. 

p.  And    it    doesn't    really    matter    who    my    love    may 

be  at  all. 
L.C.  I  must  mention  my  affections  are  not  free. 


184 


P.  It  is  really  quite  confusing,  when  it  comes  to  pick 

and  choosing; 
Mongst  so  many,  it  is  difficult  to  know  the  best  and 

worst. 
L.  C.  If   you'll   only   make   no   mention   of  your   desperate 

intention, 

You   are   bound   to   catch  a  husband,   if  he  doesn't 
see  you  first. 

Chorus — For  he  won't  marry,  though  she  would  so, 
And  she  says  "Yes"  while  he  says  "No;" 
And  it's  hard  to  arrange  the  thing,  you  know, 
When  the  maid  is  willing,  but  the  man  is  slow. 


185 


ECHO   SONG. 

Echo!   Echo! 

Fly  away  and  speed  them, 
Friends  of  mine  who  dwell  afar; 

Echo!    Echo! 

Tell  them  that  I  need  them, 
Summon  them  in  haste  to  war; 
Fly  down  the  valley  where  the  wild  vines  grow, 

Clamber  up  the  mountain  side, 
Spread  the  message  that  my  warriors  know, 
Spread  the  message  far  and  wide. 
Halloo!    Halloo! 
Halloo!    Halloo!      ' 
(Voices  faintly  from  rear  answer) 
Halloo!    Halloo! 
Halloo!    Halloo! 

Echo!    Echo! 
Set  the  woods  a-singing, 
Let  them  have  my  meaning  clear; 
Echo!    Echo! 


187 


From  the  rocks  a-ringing, 
Sound  me  the  message  far  and  near. 
Search  in  the  shallows  where  the  warm  waves  flow, 

Call  in  the  fishers  from  the  tide; 
Spread  the  message  that  my  warriors  know, 
Spread  the  message  far  and  wide. 
Halloo!    Halloo! 
Halloo!    Halloo! 
(Voices  from  without) 
Halloo!    Halloo! 
Halloo!    Halloo! 


188 


AT    LAST,    DEAR    HEART. 

At  last,  Dear  Heart,  our  ways  so  long  divided 

Have  met  and  joined  and  will  not  part  again; 
The  future  has  its  story  full  provided; 

Will  it  be  told  with  pleasure  or  with  pain? 
With  you  my  lot  is  now  forever  mingled, 

With  you  my  life  and  fate  forever  rest, 
Joy,  hopes  and  fears  forever  are  commingled. 

Ah,  tell  me  Darling,  tell  me,  is  it  best? 

I  would  not  change  it  now  whate'er  betide  me; 

Let  life  hereafter  bring  us  joy  or  woe, 
I  rest  content  in  that  thou  art  beside  me, 

Where'er  the  pathway  leads  me  I  will  go. 
So  take  me,  Love,  nor  dream  of  my  denying; 

Whate'er  I  have,  whate'er  I  am  is  thine; 
Upon  thy  love  and  constancy  relying, 

To  thee  I  make  the  sacrifice  divine. 

Oh,  Power  Unseen  that  draws  the  future  o'er  us, 
How  bright  or  dark  your  offerings  may  be, 

May  the  united  path  that  lies  before  us 
Divide  no  more  through  all  eternity. 


189 


MORNING   SONG. 

Far  over  the  mountain  the  sunlight  is  breaking; 
Wide  over  the  ocean  the  day  is  awaking; 
Deep  into  the  west  the  grim  shadows  go  flying; 
Day  has  returned  and  the  darkness  is  dying. 

Fade  away,  fade  away, 
Fade  away  night  from  the  heavens  above  us; 

Welcome  day,   welcome  day, 
Welcome  the  day  and  the  sunbeams  that  love  us. 

Fresh,  fresh  from  the  sea  the  first  breeze  is  upspringing; 
Wide,  wide  through  the  forest  the  birds  are  all  winging; 
Deep,  deep  in  the  shadow  the  fishers  go  sailing; 
Praise  we  and  greet  the  glad  morning  with  hailing. 

Fade  away,   fade  away, 
Fade  away  night  from  the  heavens  above  us ; 

Welcome  day,  welcome  day, 
Welcome  the  day  and  the  sunbeams  that  love  us. 


191 


SONG  OF  THE   ISLAND   MAIDEN. 

Should  you  wonder,  should  you  ponder, 

As   you   sit   and   muse   the   while, 
What  the  maid  is,  whether  staid  is, 

In  this  sunny  southern  isle; 
Should   you   question   the  suggestion 

That  like  other  girls  is  she, 
And  assever  she  is  never 

Coy,   I'd  answer,   "Well,  may  be." 

It  may  be,  but  we  doubt  it,  yes  we  doubt  it,  oh. 
We  hardly  would  believe  it,  if  you  told  us  so; 
For  temperate  or  tropic  it's  the  same,  you  know, 
And  women  are  but  women,  wheresoe'er  you  go. 


193 


Though  possessing  taste  in  dressing 

That  is  scant,  we  must  but  own, 
And  with   fancies  in   our  dances 

To  a  temperate  clime  unknown, 
The  diverting  sport  of  flirting 

Is  not  all  a  mystery; 
Don't  deny  it,  simply  try  it. 

Are  we  artless?     Well,  may  be. 

It  may  be,  but  we  doubt  it,  yes  we  doubt  it,  oh, 
We  hardly  would  believe  it,  if  you  told  us  so; 
For  temperate  or  tropic  it's  the  same,  you  know, 
And    women  are  but  women,  wheresoe'er  you  go. 


194 


I'M  SUCH  A  PECULIAR   PERSON. 

I'm  such  a  peculiar  person, 

Nobody's  quite  like  me; 
I'm  a  remarkable,  odd  individual, 

Yes,  to  a  high  degree. 
I  have  unusual  thoughts  and  views, 

Wonderful,    I    declare ; 
Such  eccentricity  makes  me  undoubtedly 

Something  extremely  rare. 

Nobody  thinks  as  I  do, 

Nobody  thinks  so  quite; 
I  have  remarkable  thoughts  all  day, 

Singular  dreams  at  night; 
All  of  my  innermost  attributes  are 

Out  of  the  common  run; 
Midst  an  unusually  commonplace  populace 

I'm  an  exceptional  one. 


195 


THERE'S  A  LITTLE  SLIGHT  OBJECTION. 

(Sung  to  Island  Maidens  who  propose  to  marry  a  married  man  ) 

There's  a  little  slight  objection  to  the  plan  that  you  propose, 

Though  we  do  not  doubt  your  excellent  intention; 
A  trifling,  simple  obstacle  that  seems  to  interpose, 

Which  perhaps  you  will  excuse  me  if  I  mention. 
In  social  customs  hereabouts  of  course  you  are  au  fait, 

But  you  haven't,  no  you've  not  the  faintest  notion 
Of  the  singular,  I  might  say,  of  the  very  narrow  way 

They  view  things  on  the  other  side  the  ocean. 

There's  a  little  bit  of  cottage  in  a  quiet  little  street, 

In  a  little  bit  of  country  not  as  this  is; 
And,  if  you  should  chance  to  call  there,  you  would  very  likely  meet 

A  little  bit  of  person  labeled  Mrs. ; 
She  is  not  very  muscular,  and  isn't  very  stout, 

And  she  has  a  most  deceptive,  quiet  smile,  and 
If  she  should  chance  to  hear  you  or  to  know  what  you're  about, 

'Twould  be  extremely  crowded  in  this  island. 


197 


There's  a  little  bit  of  prejudice  I  really  can't  explain, 

For  facts,  not  explanations,  I  am  giving, 
Against  a  man  who  marries  once  and  tries  it  on  again 

While  Mrs.  No.  One  is  still  a-living. 
There's  a  little  bit  of  building  with  a  little  bit  of  wall, 

Where  if  he  should  chance  to  go  you  couldn't  lose  him; 
But  the  board  and  room  they  furnish  doesn't  suit  one's  taste  at  all, 

So  I  think,  my  dears,  you  really  must  excuse  him. 


198 


THE  DICKY  BIRD. 

When   I  was  a  child  of  scarcely  three, 
The  pink  of  fresh  simplicity, 
I  used  to  long,  in  a  large  degree, 
For  a  robin  perched  in  an  apple  tree; 
And  my  parents  said,  fond  parents  they, 
With  a  manner   debonnaire  and  gay: 
"Put  salt  on  its  tail,  it's  the  only  way, 
And  you'll  catch  the  dicky  bird  some  day." 

Now  I  blush  to  confess  that  I  wasted  a  pound 

Of  salt  in  chasing  that  bird  around, 

And  finally  learned  what  I'll  be  bound 

Some  other  folks  here  have  also  found. 

To  my  parents  straight  I  told  my  tale, 

And  loudly  I  raised  my  infant  wail. 

"You  can't  do  anything  else  but  fail, 

For  you  can't  put  salt  on  a  dicky  bird's  tail." 


199 


I  am  older  now  by  many  a  year, 

But  sometimes  think,  with  a  feeling  queer, 

I  may  have  cause  to  pause  and  fear 

I  have  not  yet  learned  that  lesson  clear. 

And  I  know,  from  all  I've  seen  and  heard, 

I'm  not  the  only  one  absurd; 

But  all  the  world  like  me,  in  a  word, 

Is  engaged  in  chasing  the  dicky  bird. 


200 


THE  YOUNG  MAN. 

My  mother  said,  when  I  left  home, 

As  mothers  very  often  do, 
"My  son,  you're  starting  forth  to  roam, 

And  I've  confidence  in  you." 
So  I  went  forth  gay  as  a  butterfly  in  May, 

And  I  said,  quite  joyfully: 

*'I  will  conquer  the  world,  at  my  feet  it  shall  be  hurled" — 
And  "they  didn't  do  a  thing"  to  me ! 

It  is  a  truly  pleasant  sight, 

And  one  you  may  have  seen, 
When  a  young  man  goes  the  world  to  fight — 

A  young  man  fresh  and  green; 
There's  a  gleam  in  his  eye,  but  'twill  flicker  by  and  by, 

And  grow  exceeding  dim; 

They  are  waiting  in  a  row,  all  the  world  that  loves  him  so — 
And  "they'll  never  do  a  thing"  to  him! 


201 


LEGISLATION. 

If  you  find  things  growing  stupid  and  your  life  becoming  dull, 

You  must  not  get  discouraged  at  the  fact; 
You  can  easily  correct  it  if  you've  any  sort  of  pull; 

Just  go  to  work  and  pass  a  little  Act; 
It  doesn't  really  matter  if  the  thing  is  plain  or  not, 

Or  the  law  says  very  clearly  "Yes"  or  "No;" 
You  needn't  care  for  trifles  such  as  that,  why,  not  a  jot; 

Just  wind  the  thing  up  tight  and  let  her  go. 
For  there's  fun,  oh,  yes,  there's  fun  in  legislation; 

You  really  can't  conceive  it  till  you  try; 
You  must  only  treat  the  matter  in  the  proper  kind  of  manner, 

And  won't  you  have  excitement — well,  oh,  my! 


203 


I  have  been  among  the  animals  at  Barnum's,  once  or  twice, 

And  with  my  umbrella  poked  the  bear; 
And  the  interest  I've  awakened,  well  you  might  describe  as  nice, 

But  with  legislative  fun  it  can't  compare. 
You  only  need  to  fake  a  bit  of  paper  and  a  pen, 

And  write  some  lines,  just  six  or  eight,  no  more; 
And  get  the  boys  to  stand  behind  and  push  it  hard,  and  then 

You'll  hear  the  folks  get  up  and  let  a  roar. 
For  there's  fun,  oh,  yes,  there's  fun  in  legislation; 

You  really  can't  conceive  it  till  you  try; 
You  must  only  treat  the  matter  in  the  proper  kind  of  manner, 

And  won't  you  have  excitement — well,  oh,  my ! 


204 


COME,  WILL   YOU   WED   WITH    ME? 

Duo — Dick  and  Wainui. 

(This  is  sung  and  danced.     She  first  retreating,  and  he  following.     (Second 
verse)    He  retreating  and  she  following.) 

Dick:  Come,  will  you  wed  with  me? 

Wainui:  No,  sir,  not  as  soon  as  this. 

Dick:  Will  you  my  loved  one  be? 

WainuJ:  That,  I  fear,  would  be  amiss. 

Dick:  I  cannot  live  alone. 

Wainui:  You  have  done  so  till  to-day. 

Dick:  I  will  be  true,  My  Own. 

Wainui:  That  is  what  all  lovers  say. 

(Wainui  tings  alone) : 

Vows  declared  while  love  is  burning 
Are  not  vows  when  love  is  turning; 
Haste  away  with  all  your  yearning, 
I  still  answer,  "Nay,  nay,  nay." 


205 


Dick:  Faith,  then,  I'll  leave  you,  Dear. 
Wainui,  No,  Sir,  not  as  soon  as  this. 

Dick:  You  do  not  love,  'tis  clear. 
Wainui:  You,  I  fear,  my  meaning  miss. 

Dick:  I  go  to  live  alone. 
Wainui:  No,  you  shall  not  from  to-day. 

Dick:  So  fare  you  well,  My  Own. 
Wainui:  That  is  not  what  lovers  say. 

(Wainui  sings  alone) : 

Vows  declared  while  love  is  leading 
Are  the  only  vows  worth  heeding, 
So  if  you'll  renew  your  pleading 
I  will  answer  "Yea,  yea,  yea." 


206 


YOU'RE   IT. 

In  the  days  of  early  boyhood,  when  all  rosy  was  Life's  sun, 

When  many  were  the  joys  and  few  the  labors, 
On  summer  afternoons  when  school  was  over,  oh,  what  fur? 

To  frolic  with  the  youthful  friends  and  neighbors. 
You  stood  in  line  together  barefoot,  freckle -faced  and  red, 

While  one  among  you  mystic  words  repeated; 
When  all  at  once  he  pointed  at  you  suddenly  and  said 
What  all  the  rest,  with  joyous  shouting,  greeted: 

"You're  it,  you're  it," 
In  a  very  interesting  game; 

"You're  it,"   "you're  it," 
There'll  be  some  excitement,  just  the  same. 
And  you  go  tip-toeing,  peeking 
Round  the  corners,  softly  sneaking, 
For  the  game  is  hide-and-seeking — 
Yes,  and  "you're  it." 


207 


In  other  days  grown  older  when  you've  come  to  man's   estate, 

You  put  these  simple  boyish  sports  behind  you; 
You  have  extreme  ambitions  and  your  ideas  grow  so  great 

It's  difficult  for  friends  or  kin  to  find  you. 
And  everything  is  rosy,  there  is  romance  in  the  land, 

Each  female  form  is  clad  in  golden  glory; 
Till  you  meet  the  only  female,  and  you  take  her  by  the  hand, 

And  tell  the  old  and  interesting  story, 

"You're  it,"  "you're  it," 
In  a  very  interesting  game; 

"You're  it,"  "you're  it," 
There'll  be  some  excitement,  just  the  same. 

For  the  way  the  pink  horizon 

That  you  used  to  set  your  eyes  on 

Can  vanish,  will  surprise  one — 

Yes,  when  "you're  it." 


20S 


You  fix  mature  affection  on  a  charming  little  dear, 

Whose  early  years  with  sorrow  have  been  blighted; 
She's  not  a  common  person,  that  is  very,  very  clear, 

In  thoughts  and  high  ideals  you're  united. 
She  seems  to  be  the  presence  you  have  needed  all  the  while, 

She  lends  to  life  what  heretofore's  been  lacking; 
She  has  her  aspirations,  she  informs  you  with  a  smile, 

And  you  gladly,  very  gladly,  furnish  backing. 

"You're  it,"  "you're  it," 

In  a  very  interesting  game; 
"You're  it,"   "you're  it," 

There'll  be  some  excitement,  just  the  same. 
With  justice  stern  pursuing 
They  will  read  your  billing,  cooing, 
And  they'll  know  what  you've  been  doing — 
Yes,  when  "you're  it." 


209 


OH  DAYS  ON  THE  GOLDEN  SANDS. 

Oh  days  on  the  golden  sands, 

Oh  nights  by  the  shore, 
Love  told  in  the  clasping  hands, 

Who'd  hunger  for  more? 
Oh  days  in  the  tropic  shade, 

Safe  hid  from  the  sun, 
Happy  the  lover  and  island  maid, 

Their  wooing  begun. 

Oh  love  in  the  golden  isle, 

Far  hid  in  the  sea, 
Life  passes  in  dreams  the  while 

Suns  smile  upon   thee. 
Oh  isle  where  the  breezes  blow 

Soft  welcome  to  bliss, 
Happy  the  lover  and  maiden  who  know 

Love's  wakening  kiss. 


line       Pa 
leader, 
witting    t 
she  had  b 
it  was  ano 
Mrs.  Pank 
tured  in  a 
to   Scotlan 
ered  the  m 
prisoner. 

At   first   t 
sidered  a  h 
an       appare 
whereby  Mrsj] 
from     her 
while    her 
away  the   p 

Late   last 
from    the    m 
walked   feeb 
taxicab.      Th 
guarded    the 
since    Mrs. 
the   rioting 
and    Social 
ately  conclu 
was  attempt 
into  the  cab  a 
ordered  the  dr 
land  Yard.    Be 
destination    th 
discovered  thei 
known  woman 

Meanwhile, 
unguarded  and 
the  police  tha 
been  hoodwinke 


Men  and  Worn 
1  A  vote  cast  fo 
jxteusion  issue 
•^reet-car  servi< 
tl  Don't  forget  to 
Saturday. 
:'The 

ity     Hall     build 
-yde   streets. 


Mrs.  E.  F.  Green  Det 

Shadow* 


evidence  of  my  senses.  I  could  not 
explain  the  woman's  power  over  my 
husband.  I  tried  to  analyze  it  coldly, 
but  could  find  no  answer.  She  is  not 
physically  attractive  and  is  a  woman 
of  no  refinement. 

"Through  the  years  that  followed 
I  saw  the  struggle  that  was  going 
on  in  my  husband's  soul.  So  clear 
was  the  antithesis  of  the  two  selves 
that  I  loved  one  and  loathed  the 
other.  I  think  I  still  love  that  worthier 
self.  Every  woman  is,  in  a  sense, 
the  mother  of  all  the  world,  and  my 
love  for  this  truer  presentment  of 
my  husband's  nature  s.eems  to  me 
like  the  mother  love  for  a  child. 
IN  OTHER  WOMAN'S  POWER. 

"Under  the  shock  of  pain  and  dis 
illusionment,  we  do  not  reason  so 
calmly  as  we  may  later,  and  there 
were  many  scenes  and  several  sep 
arations,  when  finally  it  was  forced 
upon  me  that  my  husband  was  in 
the  power  of  Mrs.  Lane. 

"During  these  years  my  husband 
was  prospering,  and  we  moved  to  a 
larger  house  in  the  Richmond  dis 
trict  and  later  to  the  residence  at 
Hyde  and  Filbert  streets. 

"I  sought  to  allay  the  daily  recur 
ring  pain  by  cloying  my  senses  with 
beauty.  I  had  devoted  years  of  study 
to  antiques  and  bric-a-brac,  and  in 
our  house  were  gathered  art  objects 
from  every  corner  of  the  world. 

"But  the  tragedy  was  obtrusive.  I 
coulrt  not  escape  it.  I  might  have 
been  yielding  and  inert,  but  I  loved 
my  husband.  I  do  not  believe  in  di 
vorce,  and  there  seemed  nothing  to 
do  but  live  on. 
WON  HER  BY  POEM. 

"Once  when  my  husband  had  been 
away  and  had  come  back  to  me  I  ra- 


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